Brooklyn
by RosieLynn
Summary: In 1939, you move into the apartment next to Steve Roger's and meet him and Bucky Barnes. The three of you become fast friends. Too soon, the war takes over and sends you each on a different path. Years later, you come in contact with Bucky once again, this time in a Hydra facility deep in Europe. The story follows the three main characters from 1939 to the present day.
1. 1939

"Careful with that, please, it's a family heirloom," your mother calls to two movers carrying a desk up the stairs. Your father grins and jokingly offers them a crisp five for 'smashing the damn thing'. Doing her best to hide an exasperated smile, your mother rolls her eyes and lightly bumps your father's arm.

"Just joking, Loretta," the sparkle in your father's eyes confirms this and a laugh bubbles from your chest.

It's a beautiful summer day in Brooklyn. There's not a cloud in the sky and a gentle breeze keeps the worst of the heat away. You take a deep breath. _The city_. The buildings tower high in the sky, dwarfing the apartment complex your family is currently moving into. Still, it gives you a sort of thrill at the prospect of living so far off the ground. Back home, flat land stretched for miles, telling you exactly what was where, but here...here there is possibility. Anything could be around the corner! It's all so _exciting_.

"Y/n, don't just stand there," your mother chides, "move a box or something!"

"Sorry, mother," you move quickly to grab a box of a manageable size. Your mother smiles at you and you know that no harm was done.

Keeping the box secure in your arms, you twist past the movers, suddenly eager to see the inside of your new apartment. Eight flights of stairs later, you burst through the front door. Breathing slightly heavier, you pause to look around. It's smaller than you're used to. And dusty. Sunlight filters through the open window, curtains blowing gently in the breeze. You swallow, set the box down in the center of the room, and head to the right side of the apartment where your parents had said your bedroom would be. You hesitate at the door handle. With one more deep breath, you swing the door open and step inside. "Oh," you breathe. It's completely empty, but it doesn't matter because there is a window on the rear wall. You rush towards it, eager to see the view. From your window stretches tall buildings as far as the eye can see. Below, a busy street presents people bustling to and fro, never stopping their movements. From all the way up on the eighth floor, you catch the scent of fresh-baked bread-a bakery!

"So? What's the verdict?" You turn to see your father standing in the doorway with his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking unsure.

You beam. "Magnificent!" You rush over to him and fling your arms around his shoulders. "Thank you," you whisper sincerely.

A chuckle comes from him freely. "Thank the company! With the way things are lookin' over in Europe, they wanted some of us closer to the edge, just in case we need to mobilize."

You pull your arms back slightly, feeling the weight of his words.

He clears his throat. "But of course, you don't need to concern yourself with all of this. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No," You pull away and take a step back so you can look him in the eyes. "I want to know." There's a pause. "Do you think we'll go to war?"

He shrugs. "Perhaps."

You wring your hands together. "Well even if there is a war, you wouldn't have to go, right? Because you fought in the last one?"

His eyes soften. "Oh, don't worry, kiddo. We can only take things one day at a time. And you're fifteen, anyway, you don't need to be talking about wars! You should be out makin' friends!"

You chuckle weakly, indulging him. "Dad, we've been here three hours. I've hardly had the time to meet any girls."

A grin takes over his face. "Well, then perhaps you and your mother oughtta get out of here! I'll handle the moving business, you two find an ice cream shop or something, my treat."

At the mention of free ice cream, all unpleasant thoughts of war leave your mind. "Thank you! I'll go tell mother!" Your dad hands you two dollars, one for you and one for your mother, and you rush down the stairs.

You and your mother find an ice cream shop three blocks from your new home. You even run into a group of girls your age! They seem nice and invite you to join them for their book club on Tuesday night at five o'clock. With the money left over from your ice cream trip, you and your mother track down a used bookstore and purchase a battered copy of Madame Curie's biography. In order to give your father and the movers a little more time to settle everything in, you and your mother walk arm-in-arm around your neighborhood. Brooklyn is lovely. It's crowded and a little dirty, but you can feel in your heart that wonderful things will happen here. Besides, flaws are what make something stand out, and Brooklyn is certainly one-of-a-kind. When your stomachs alert you to dinnertime, you and your mother head towards your new home.

{***}

After dinner, when the sun begins to set and the breeze beckons in a chill, you grab a sweater and carefully climb out your window onto the waiting fire escape. The setting sun's orange fingers brush gently over the buildings. Your heart rate picks up when you realize how high up you are. You feel as if, given a good enough running start, you could jump up and take flight! A _clanging_ below you interrupts your thoughts. Taking a few startled steps back, you look below you to see a boy climbing the fire escape. By the time he reaches your level, you can see that he is not a boy, but a man, perhaps twenty or twenty-one based on his facial features. Exertion from the climb has turned his face pink and wheezes labor his breath. He's skinny, unbelievably so, and only perhaps an inch taller than you. The man looks at you with polite confusion.

"Hello, miss. Can I help you with anything?"

You smile politely. "No, thank you. I'm just enjoying the sunset. I uh-" turning slightly, you point over your shoulder to the window behind you, "just moved in with my family." Feeling comfortable, you find yourself continuing. "I've never seen a view like this before."

Peace and fondness cover the man. "Not a view like it in the world." There's a content pause as you both enjoy the beauty around you. He extends his hand. "I'm Steve Rogers. I live right here." He jerks his head towards the window adjacent to yours.

"Y/n", you respond, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Well, I better get inside, but it was nice to meet you. If you ever need anything, I'm just next door. Don't hesitate to ask."

You can see that his offer is genuine. "The same for you. Have a lovely evening."

He nods his thanks and turns to climb through his own window. But curiosity gets the best of you, and you burst out a question. "Why did you climb the fire escape? I assume you have a perfectly good front door." You don't mean to be rude, but that's how you end up sounding. Thankfully, he grins.

"Easier than walking all the way around."

Satisfied, you nod once, and he takes this as his dismissal, slipping through his window and into his apartment.

You remain on the fire escape until the sun has set completely, and when it has gone, you too put yourself to bed.

{***}

"Bye, darling, have fun at your book club!" Your mother kisses you on the cheek. "Your father and I are going out dancing tonight, so we'll be home late."

You nod and wave goodbye as you duck out the front door. The house you're meeting at is only six blocks away, so you forgo the expensive taxi and choose instead to walk. You stroll confidently through the streets, excited to finally be exploring Brooklyn on your own.

{***}

Book club was interesting! Some of the girls had original thoughts they wanted to share, and some were just there to gossip. In the spirit of being well-rounded, you participated in both. It's only seven and you wager that you'll make it home before it gets too dark, so you decide to walk home. You go slowly, allowing yourself to take in the sights and sounds of Brooklyn rushing home from days of work or leisure. You spot a diner you make a mental note to try, a couple of barber shops, the bookstore you bought your book at, and a gymnasium. It's nearing eight and the sun has dipped below the buildings when you make it back to your apartment. Four men crowd around the bottom of the main stairs, so you do your best to make it past them.

"Excuse me," you request politely.

One catches you around the waist and pushes you back. Suddenly, you're in the middle of the four of them. Unease pools in your stomach.

"Where you goin' all by yourself? It's gettin' dark out, little lady. Not so safe for pretty young things like yourself."

"Yeah," one of the men behind you chimes in, "we oughtta walk her home. Wouldn't be good men if we left her unattended."

Relief rushes through you. _Thank goodness, they're just concerned about your safety._

"Oh, I just live right up there." You point to your door. "Thank you for your concern though." You try to break through the two standing in front of you, but one of them shoves you back again, much rougher this time. You gulp. "Honestly, fellas, I'm fine. If you would just let me pass-"

The two behind you lurch forward and grab your arms, yanking you back. Terrified, you scream and kick wildly, catching one of the men in the face with the heel of your shoe.

He grips his face, anger taking over his features. "Stupid bitch!"

The man you kicked lunges forward and gets a fist of your hair. He pulls harshly, causing you to cry out.

"Hey," a sharp voice shouts from above, "knock that off!"

The men ignore the order and opt instead to try and pull you away with them. You kick with everything you've got, getting in a couple good scratches with your shoe. You hear the heavy sounds of rushing footsteps, and then one of the men holding your arms is knocked straight to the ground by a clean punch. As the other man releases your arm to defend himself, you fall to the ground and bang your head on the concrete. _Ouch_. You cover your head as best you can with the fight starting above you.

"Y/n, take my hand," comes a soft voice from your right.

You blink open your eyes to see Steve Rogers extending his hand with a kind look on his face. Relieved, you grab his hand and allow him to carefully pull you away from the fight and up from the ground. Once you're standing, you take in the scene before you. A tall man with deep brown hair is taking on all four of the guys at once. Steve seems to realize this at the same time you do because he's suddenly rushing back into the fray. He seems to be more of a distraction than a true help, but you admire his willingness. The fight is over relatively soon and the four men are sent running.

Steve turns back to you. "How are you doing?"

You exhale slowly, moving to wipe the sweat off your brow. When you lower your hand, you see the red, sticky blood smeared across the back. "Oh," you gasp, looking in confusion at the blood.

"It probably happened when you fell to the ground. Sorry about that." The man talking to you-the one who did the majority of the fighting-looks sheepish.

Now aware of the pain, you're eager to get inside to deal with the cut. "No, it's not your fault at all. Thank you both so much for your help. I…" The full weight of the situation hits you. "I'm not sure I would have lasted long had you two not arrived."

The man with the dark hair scrunches up his face. "I disagree. You got in a couple of pretty good kicks! You got one of the guys in the face and he was practically _crying_."

You chuckle weakly. "You're too kind."

"Y/n, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Bucky, this is Y/n. Her family just moved in next door."

Bucky reaches to shake my hand. "Good to meet you." The blood from the cut on my forehead drips down and lands on my nose. Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, which I accept gratefully. Bucky looks at me with mild concern. "Let's get you inside and get that to stop bleeding. Head wounds are tricky."

Especially after what just happened, you know you shouldn't follow two men you barely know, but they both seem incredibly trustworthy. Plus, they literally just risked their safety to ensure yours. Gratefully, you follow them up the stairs and into Steve's apartment. It has the exact same layout as yours, but it's more run down and sparsely furnished.

"Sorry for the mess," Steve abashes. You wave it off.

He motions for you to sit on the couch and Bucky sits next to you, taking the handkerchief and applying pressure to the wound on your head. Steve fishes in the cabinets for a first aid kit and he soon comes back with antiseptic and a bandage. While you wait for the bleeding to stop, Bucky makes conversation.

"Not judging your life choices or anything," Steve scoffs and Bucky throws him a look before continuing, "but what were you doing walking around Brooklyn alone?"

You feel your face heat up in mild embarrassment. "We just moved here from a small town in Idaho. Back there, everybody knew everybody...it was perfectly safe to walk around by yourself even well after dark." You give a mirthless chuckle. "I guess it was stupid of me to assume it would be the same in the city."

Bucky shakes his head, looking at you with a strange expression on his face. "Not stupid. Trusting." There's a slight pause. "We don't have a lot of that left here."

Unsure of what to say, you simply smile. The bleeding has stopped now, so Bucky leaves to wash the handkerchief while Steve takes care of cleaning up the cut. Not wanting to seem like a baby, you make sure not to wince when the antiseptic bites your skin. Steve gently applies the bandage and makes sure it sticks before stepping away.

"Good as new."

You smile at the men. "I can't thank you enough for your help tonight. I will make sure to be much more careful coming home from book club next week."

Bucky scrunches up his face again, a habit of his that you're already starting to notice. "You plan on walking yourself home every week?"

You nod. "Well sure. The girls all live on the opposite side of town and my parents typically work late, although they're out dancing tonight. I'll be more aware of my surroundings though and make sure that I'm home before it starts to get dark."

Steve and Bucky share a look.

"No," Bucky decides.

Now it's your turn to scrunch up your face. "No? What do you mean, no?"

"We'll walk you home," Steve answers casually. Bucky nods in agreement.

You blanch. "B-but it's on the other side of town. And I'm sure you have better things to do with your evening each week."

"Nah," the two answer in unison.

You splutter as you try to come up with an argument as to why they shouldn't. You really don't want to put them out.

As if reading your mind, Steve says, "really, it's no trouble at all. We don't mind."

"Yeah," Bucky smirks, "'help thy neighbor' and all that."

You chuckle hesitantly. "Well, if you insist, then I gratefully accept. But as _soon_ as it becomes an inconvenience, you let me know, alright?"

They mumble their assent, but you can tell that they don't mean it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You realize how dark it's gotten outside and know it's time to get home. Before leaving, you write the address of the book club house on a piece of paper and hand it to Steve. Thanking them once more and wishing them a lovely night, you leave and go next door to your own apartment. Your parents still aren't home. You take a shower to clean up and grumble at the dried blood on the side of your face. _Hopefully there won't be any bruising so I can avoid_ that _conversation with my parents_ , you think. Absolutely exhausted from the events of your evening, you quickly change and get into bed, falling asleep quickly.


	2. September 1940

**A/n Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing- it means a lot! I'm going to try to update once a week, but realistically it will be every week and a half or so. Hang in there though, I promise that I will update! Also, about halfway through this chapter, I switch to a "narration POV". For some reason, I can't remember what it's called, so if you know what that is, please review/message me and let me know! Most of the story will be from Y/n's POV, but every now and then I want Steve or Bucky's take so I'll switch to that "narration POV". Okay, enough from me. Enjoy :)**

"Listen, I didn't mean to offend you!" Steve puts his hands up in a gesture of innocence. "All I was saying was that the movie's a bit gory and I wouldn't want you to get upset."

"Get upset," you huff in playful outrage. "Get upset! I'll have you know, Steve Rogers, that last month I applied to nursing training and I received my acceptance letter earlier this afternoon. So blood, gore, and horrors come my way! I can handle it all," you smirk at Steve over your shoulder.

Grinning, Steve stops walking. "Y/n, nursing training? That's amazing, c'mere!"

A joyful laugh bubbles from you as you let Steve throw his skinny arms around you in a weak but familiar hug. Once he lets go, you resume walking.

"Thanks, Steve. I'm really excited for it." Your playfulness returns, and you nudge Steve in his side. "Now I can finally patch you up after all those stupid fights."

He rolls his eyes. "You know, one of these days, I'm going to win one."

You smirk. "Sure, sure."

There's a pause. You exhale and try your best to seem nonchalant. "So, where's Bucky?"

Steve doesn't look at you. "He has a date."

"Oh." You play with your fingers.

Steve glances at you from the corner of his eyes. "Does that bother you?"

"No, no," you're quick to reassure him. "I just wanted to share the news about nursing training, that's all." Bucky had been going on a lot of dates recently, and it had been making you feel a bit left out. Of course you love spending time with Steve, but it's been weeks since you've seen Bucky for more than three minutes, let alone had a conversation with him.

Sensing your shift in mood, Steve kindly offers you his arm. Smiling at his gesture, you take it, looping your arm through his.

"We'll catch him at some point, don't you worry. Eventually, he'll run out of girls to chase and will have to pay attention to us!"

You chuckle. "Well, we _are_ more interesting than most of them."

Steve shakes his head. "'Cept for that circus acrobat." He whistles lowly. "She's probably more captivating than either of us can ever hope to be."

You smirk. "In Bucky's eyes, sure."

"Hey." The voice comes from behind you. The two of you whip around, Steve instantly looking in suspicion.

"'Ey, over here, sweets." The thick Brooklyn accent is matched with a tall man leaning casually against the side of a building. He has dark hair and olive-toned skin with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. You can't help but notice how attractive he is.

"Can I help you with something?" Steve's tone is polite but firm, his hands crossed over his chest.

The man shakes his head. "Not talking to you." He jerks his head in your direction, looking you up and down. "He your boyfriend, sweets?"

Stunned by the attention and the man's forward approach, you mutely shake your head.

"And, uh," the man pushes himself off the wall and walks slowly towards you. Steve eyes him warily. "You free Friday night?"

"Yes." Your voice comes out softly. You clear your throat.

Coming to a stop right in front of you, the man grins. "Well, I'm Joe. And I'd love to take you to see a movie."

You can feel Steve's eyes on the two of you, but you keep your eyes locked on Joe's face. _He's so cute_. _And he's talking to_ you _!_

A slow smile spreads across your face. "Well, I'd love to go." Your voice is still shy, but you manage to look him directly in the eyes when you accept his invitation.

Joe smiles and rubs his jaw. "Great. Friday, at five? I'll pick you up at…?" His voice trails off and you realize he's waiting for your address. You give it to him and point helpfully in the direction of your home.

"Alright." A lovely smile spreads across Joe's face. "I'll see you Friday at five, sweets." He inclines his head in goodbye and ambles away in the opposite direction of your apartment.

You wait until he's turned the corner to let the huge smile take over your face.

Steve slowly nods his head, looking at the ground. "First date. Big deal."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, Steve, don't be so serious all the time!" Looping your arm through his once more, you pull him to a walking pace. "This is exciting-be excited!"

Steve offers you a smile that's clearly faked, so you drop your arms and huff. "Alright, alright." Steve reaches for your arm and you smile. "I just don't know him is all, so I don't know if I can trust him."

You shrug your shoulders. "Of course you can trust him. He seems nice."

Steve looks like he wants to say something else, but then decides against it. Wanting to focus on your excitement rather than Steve's suspicion, you let it go. After five more minutes of walking, you reach your front door. You turn to face Steve, resting your hands easily on his shoulders since you're about the same height.

"Really, Steve, please don't be worried. Everything is going to be fine, I can feel it. Besides," you squeeze his shoulders playfully, "I have you and Bucky to beat him up if he turns out to be garbage."

At this, Steve throws his head back and laughs, nodding in agreement. "You do have that." He sobers a little and offers you a small smile. "Always."

You smile your thanks and tell him goodnight.

When your parents arrive later that evening, you tell them about your date. They're excited, and your mom rushes to help you put together the perfect outfit. As you twirl in front of the mirror, your dad offers you an encouraging smile.

 **Narration POV**

It's Wednesday, and Steve and Bucky are hanging out in Steve's apartment. They throw a football back and forth, Steve dropping it more than he catches it, and chat.

"Did you have fun last night," Steve asks. "Tuesday is kind of a weird night for a date."

Bucky shrugs. "It was when she was free. The club has her working most nights."

Steve lets his arms drop and shoots Bucky a disapproving look. "A showgirl, Buck? Really?"

Bucky grins and rolls his eyes. "She's got friends, Steve, don't you worry. Besides," the ball Bucky throws hits Steve in the head, and they pause to laugh. "She's only working there until she hears back from secretary school."

"Ah," Steve nods. "Well maybe try to spend a little more time with Y/n, if you can. I think she's feeling a little left out."

Bucky scrunches up his face. "Really? I saw her just last…" but he trails off because he can't remember the last time he saw Y/n. Guilt registers on his features. "I guess it has been a while. Well hey, maybe we can do something this weekend! Yeah, Friday night we can take her to that diner she likes or something."

Steve shakes his head, tossing the football back to Bucky. "Can't. She has a date Friday night."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up and he lets the ball hang at his side, the game forgotten. "Wait, really?" He releases a chuckle. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Steve shakes his head, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. Bucky sits opposite him in a rickety chair. "We were walking together last night and this fella-Joe's his name-stopped us and just asked her to a movie." Steve squints, remembering the encounter and his suspicions. "He was a little rude about it if you ask me, but she's excited."

"Well," Bucky chuckles and stretches his legs out. "I know what we're doing Friday night."

Steve looks at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

A mischievous glint enters Bucky's eye. "We're going on that date."

Steve shakes his head in mock humor. "Ha ha, Buck. Very funny."

"I'm serious." Looking at Bucky, Steve can see that it's true.

"We weren't invited," Steve reminds him.

Bucky makes a face. "Of course we were. It's implied." At Steve's dubious look, Bucky continues. "Often on first dates, someone-usually a brother-will chaperone. Y/n doesn't have any brothers, and her father probably doesn't have any plan to chaperone. As her two best friends, it's our job to accompany them. It's what I would do for my sister if she weren't nine."

Steve sees Bucky's logic, but he also knows Y/n. "She'll be mad when we tell her."

Bucky thinks for a minute. "We don't tell her, then."

Steve makes a noise of protest, which Bucky waves off. "Y/n is nearly a grown woman capable of making her own choices, I know. But what we _don't_ _know_ is literally anything about this Joe guy. Who's to say he's trustworthy?"

Bucky's got Steve there. "Alright, I'm in. What's the plan?"

{***}

"You two have fun, now!" Bucky and Steve can hear the muffled voices from outside Steve's front door.

"Have her back by eight," comes Y/n's father's best effort at a stern voice.

"Sure thing, sir," Joe responds, sounding responsible. Steve nods approvingly, but Bucky just purses his lips.

The two give Y/n and Joe a couple of minutes to get a head start and then follow. The movie theatre is only a few blocks away, so the walk is quick. Good thing, too, because it's getting cold. Bucky spots Y/n and Joe at the ticket booth and buys tickets for the same movie. Afterward, he leads Steve to the concession stand.

Steve gives Bucky a mildly exasperated look. "Really, Buck?"

"What?" Bucky grins. "It's a _movie_! I've got to have popcorn. You want anything?"

Acquiescing, Steve calls out an order for red licorice. Bucky nods in approval and, after receiving their snacks, the two head into the theatre. They spot Y/n and Joe near the middle and take seats a few rows behind them. Thankfully, few people are at the showing and no one sits in front of Steve and Bucky. The movie starts, and Steve lets out a quiet scoff.

"What?" Bucky glances at Steve in a mixture of confusion and concern.

"This is the movie I was advising Y/n not to see. There's a lot of blood and violence. I can't believe this guy would take a lady to see this on a first date."

Bucky dismisses this. "Y/n's tough, she'll be fine." He chuckles quietly. "Besides, she's seen enough blood come outta you. She's probably immune to it by now."

Steve joins him in the quiet laughter. "True, true."

The first half of the movie passes quickly. Y/n and Joe don't seem to interact much, although Y/n's fidgets give away her nerves. Then comes a scene where a character gets stabbed, and Joe slyly slips his arms around Y/n's shoulders. She stiffens.

Bucky scrunches up his face and chucks a handful of popcorn at the back of Joe's head, but the popcorn is too light and doesn't make it.

"Bucky, what-" Steve starts, but Bucky interrupts him.

"Give me a stick of licorice."

Sensing Bucky's next move, Steve rolls his eyes but hands over the licorice. Bucky raises his arm, takes aim, and- _thwack!_ The licorice smacks Joe right in the back of his head.

"Hey, what the hell?" Joe whips around angrily, and Steve and Bucky hit the deck, sliding out of their chairs and to the safety of the floor.

"What is it?" The two hear Y/n's soft voice.

"Someone just...threw candy at me?" Joe's sounds so perplexed that Bucky and Steve have to work hard to hold in their laughter. A giggle escapes Steve's lips, and Bucky clamps his hand over Steve's mouth, adding a hand over his own mouth when Steve's nonplussed expression makes Bucky want to laugh even more. They spend a good ten minutes on the movie theatre floor, hoping to avoid completely ruining Y/n's date. When it seems safe enough, the two quietly sneak back into their seats.

The licorice-throwing seemed to have effectively deterred Joe from trying to put his arm around Y/n again, so the rest of the movie passes without event. By the time they leave the theatre, the temperature has officially dropped, causing Bucky and Steve to pull their jackets tighter around them. Steve groans against the chill, his 95 pounds obviously not doing him any good.

"Alright, Stevie," Bucky claps his hand against Steve's shoulder, "let's get you home."

Steve wants to protest, but can't because his teeth start chattering. Bucky speeds them up, doing his best to keep an eye on Y/n and Joe and Steve. A couple hundred feet ahead, Y/n shivers, having only her thin sweater to keep her warm. Joe obviously notices yet does nothing, which makes Bucky's teeth clench.

"Steve, did you see that? She's cold and he's just doin' nothing about it! You'd think he'd have the common decency to give her his jacket."

"M-maybe he's sc-ared to t-touch her from the licorice in-incident," Steve does his best to send Bucky an accusing look, but the effect is weakened by Steve's shaking.

Bucky jokingly slugs him across the shoulder. "Ah, you're just lashing out because you're uncomfortable. There, there, I know you support me unconditionally." Bucky grins and Steve shoots him a look.

They arrive at the apartment building, and Bucky and Steve duck around a corner across the street so they can keep an eye on the couple.

"Alright," Bucky assures, "we just have to wait for him to leave and then we can head upstairs and get inside."

Steve does his best to shrug in nonchalance. "I can do this all day."

"Sure, buddy."

Y/n and Joe reach the eighth level. Y/n moves towards the front door, but Joe pulls her to a stop.

"Uh-oh," Bucky and Steve groan in unison.

Joe pushes Y/n against the wall and places his hands on either side of her head.

"Come on, man, at least wait until you get to the door," Bucky admonishes quietly.

Joe seems to pause to say something and then leans in.

"Ugh," Steve voices his annoyance. Bucky nods in agreement.

At the last second, Y/n sidesteps and slips away, tossing a quick 'goodbye' over her shoulder before hurrying to her door and entering her apartment, leaving no room for Joe to argue or follow.

Steve and Bucky chuckle at Joe's luck as the man descends the stairs of the complex, looking frustrated. When he's gone, the two hurry up the stairs and into Steve's apartment, eager to get away from the cold.

"I don't think we need to chaperone the next date," Steve calls as he defrosts next to the heater. "Y/n seems to know what she's doing."

"True," Bucky agrees. Then, a gleam enters his eyes. "Although it _was_ kinda fun throwing food at the guy."

Steve mockingly shakes his head. "So mature, so wise."

Bucky throws a dusty pillow at Steve's head, laughing.

 **Y/n's POV**

"Y/n, is that you? How was your date, darling?" Your mom meets you in the living room, followed closely by your dad.

You shrug. "It was alright. If I'm being completely honest, I don't think there will be another. We just didn't seem to click all that well."

Your mom rolls her eyes and begins a lecture, working herself up more and more with each sentence. "That's how all first dates are, dear. This attitude will get you nowhere! Suppose Joe hears how you're talking right now and tells his friends? They certainly won't want to date you if they think you're not going to give them a chance. Soon all of Brooklyn knows how you are and you're twenty-two with no romantic prospects on the horizons. Oh, the embarrassment, Y/n!"

"Mother, I'm only sixteen," you interrupt. "There's plenty of time to find a husband."

But your mom is on one of her rants and you know reason is not her friend at the moment. You sigh and resign yourself to indulging her.

"It's those boys, I know it is. I should have known! It's not proper at all for a young woman to spend so much time with two grown men."

Unable to keep quiet, you cut in. "They're only six or seven years older than me, Mom! Dad's nine years older than you. And besides, I don't spend that much time with them, just when they walk me home each week." It's a lie, but your mother doesn't need to know that. Really, it's her fault for not noticing that your friend 'Candy' is a cover-up for Steve and Bucky.

Thankfully, your dad steps in to end the argument. "Okay, Loretta, let's save this for tomorrow. I think we're all tired and could use a good night's sleep."

Your mom huffs, and your dad calmly wraps her in a hug. "Don't you worry, darling. If Y/n is still unmarried when she's at the ghastly age of twenty-two-" he winks at you, "then I promise to marry her off to one of the sons of my coworkers. See? Everything will be fine."

At this, your mother calms slightly. "I need a drink."

"I will get you one," your father assures her.

Giving you a tired smile, your mom heads in the direction of her bedroom.

Your dad hugs you and ruffles your hair. "See you in the morning, kiddo."

"Goodnight, Dad."

You wait in your room until you hear their bedroom door close, and then climb out your window. The frigid air hits you and goes straight to your bones, but you do your best to creep quietly along the fire escape. When you reach Steve's window, you knock softly. When nothing happens, you knock again, louder this time. The bedroom light flicks on and you and Bucky lock eyes, each surprised to see the other. A particularly strong gust of wind blows around your dress and hair, and Bucky hurries to the window to let you in. He offers a hand and you take it, allowing him to pull you into Steve's room.

"Hey, you," you greet, pleased to finally see Bucky after weeks of no contact. "I figured it was just Steve around here."

Bucky shakes his head and leads you into the living room. "I'm crashing here tonight. It's too damn cold to walk all the way home."

"You're in the presence of a lady, watch your language," Steve is half-mocking, half-serious, and Bucky throws his hands up in surrender.

Steve scoots over on the couch so you can sit next to him, and Bucky takes the chair across from you.

"So uh," Steve coughs, "tonight was your date, wasn't it?" He won't look you in the eye. Bucky hangs his head in defeat.

"Steve, you're the worst liar I know. You shouldn't even try," you admonish.

Steve grimaces. "Oops."

"Nice going, _Steve_ ," Bucky shoots him a pointed look.

"Leave him alone, Mr. Licorice!" At this, the three of you erupt into laughter. "Really? It was an _arm_ , Buck," you say through the laughs.

He grins sheepishly and shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

You roll your eyes. "Then I shudder to think what your bad ideas are like."

Bucky gives you a face, causing the laughter to begin again.

When you've all calmed down, Steve looks at you. "Did you at least have a good time?"

"Eh, it wasn't necessarily a _bad_ time. I just don't really want to go out with him again."

The guys look at you, waiting for an explanation.

"He just didn't seem all that interested in me. I got the impression that he's looking for a woman who will make a quiet, obedient wife and not be a person of her own. That's not really me."

"I agree." You look at Bucky in surprise. You hadn't really expected either of them to respond. "From what I know about you, I think you'd prefer a life of excitement."

You look up, seeing the blue in his eyes. "Exactly."

Steve cuts in jokingly. "Like the army!"

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "Can you imagine!"

You shake your head. "Oh, please, no more talk about war. It's all anyone talks about right now."

"Well, with things heating up the way they are over in Europe, I wouldn't expect war talk to go away anytime soon," Steve advises.

You sigh, looking at the ground. "I just pray we don't get involved."

Steve and Bucky share a look, but they don't say anything more about it. Instead, Steve offers to set up a board game. The three of you spend the next two hours laughing, catching up, and enjoying being in each other's company. You tell Bucky about nursing training, and he's so proud and it makes you feel so good inside. _Your friends are proud of you_. Bucky even promises to be there Tuesday after book club and Steve offers to take you both out for french fries at your favorite diner. _Life is good_.

 **A/n I'd love your feedback! Thanks for reading :)**


	3. December 1941

A/n Hi! Someone alerted me to the fact that radio was much more common during this time period (thank you, by the way!) so I have updated this chapter to reflect that. I'm writing chapter four right now!

Y/n's POV~December 1941

In the event of a broken bone, it is necessary to hold the affected area steady until the doctor's schedule allows him to set it. If the affected area is light enough to hold by yourself, do so. If not, either enlist the help of other available nurses or use the sling system as shown in Diagram C. It is best if-

A soft knock on the door interrupts your studies. You get up from the kitchen table and walk to the front door. Pulling it open, you're pleased to see Bucky.

"Hey," he grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Parents home?"

You shake your head, opening the door wider to allow him to come in, wondering what could have brought him to your house in the middle of the day. When he reaches to the side and grabs someone, you immediately know why.

Bucky pulls an exhausted and beat-up Steve with him, supporting most of Steve's meager weight.

"Oh, Steve," you gasp. "Set him in a chair." You gesture to one of the kitchen chairs as you hurry to your bathroom where your family keeps the first aid kit. "What happened," you call as you search.

"I found him in an alley near my house. Three guys were on him, can you believe that?" Bucky's voice shakes with barely restrained outrage. "I mean, come on! Have a conscience!"

"I can speak, Buck," Steve whispers weakly.

Finding the kit, you jog back into the kitchen and do a surface-level assessment of Steve: an eye that will be black in a couple of hours, split lip, bleeding nose, bruised and bleeding hands and knees, and one of his fingers is bent the wrong way.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" You ask.

"A little," he rasps.

You bite your lip, not confident enough in your studies yet to make a call. "Well, it might be a broken rib...but you really should get that verified by a doctor."

Steve shakes his head. "Got no money for a doctor."

"Yeah," Bucky calms down enough to smile at you, "so he just mooches off our favorite friend."

You chuckle nervously. "I'm happy to let you mooch, but I honestly don't think I know enough to be any real help. I'll try, though."

Steve tries to smile at you, but it comes out as more of a grimace. "That's all I ask."

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you get to work. You deal with his finger first, knowing it's probably causing him a fair amount of pain. He sucks in a breath when you set it, and you cringe, hating yourself for hurting him.

"I'm sorry," you gasp.

Steve smiles weakly at you. "It's okay. It feels better already."

You're not sure he's telling the truth, but Bucky pats you reassuringly on the back and you begin cleaning and bandaging his cuts. There's nothing you can truly do about the rib-those have to heal on their own-but you wrap his ribcage tightly in bandages, hoping that will keep the injured rib from moving around too much and causing him further pain.

"Do you have pain medication at home?"

Steve shakes his head, and you frown. "I don't have any here, either…"

"I'll go get some," Bucky offers. Steve begins to protest, but Bucky just shakes his head and walks towards the door. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Satisfied that you've done everything you can for Steve, you sit in the chair across from him. "Do you want to share the full story?"

Steve shakes his head, annoyance clear on his face. "I caught those guys stealing from that bookstore you like. When I called them on it, they dragged me to the alley."

You sigh sadly. "People can be horrible."

Steve nods solemnly. "Indeed."

"But thankfully," you extend your hand over the table to hold his, careful to avoid his broken finger, "there are good people like you in the world. Maybe one day there will be a whole world full of Steve Rogers."

He chuckles. "Wouldn't that be a sight?"

"The world would be safer...and kinder...I think about it sometimes. What my life would be like if I hadn't met you and Bucky, and well," you smile, squeezing Steve's hand lightly, "I'm very glad I did."

Steve's eyes light up. "We're the lucky ones here. Without you, I'd probably be Swiss cheese" you chuckle, "and Bucky would still be a shameless flirt."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "He is a shameless flirt! Are you kidding?"

Both of you laugh with nothing but fondness for Bucky. As the laughter dies down, Steve grins. "I guess some things are just meant to be."

You and Steve take the rest of the time to catch up. You learn that he got a second job at a grocery store, and you tell him all about your friend Pearl's upcoming wedding.

He looks at you as if trying to read your mind. "Do you wish you were getting married?"

A shocked noise leaves your throat. "No way! Steve-I'm seventeen. Right now I'm perfectly content with going to school and dating here and there. Marriage is…" you search for the right words. "Just too much right now."

Steve nods, a thoughtful look on his face as he considers you. "I forget how much younger you are than me and Buck. You're very mature."

You snort. "More like you and Bucky are children."

He nods in acceptance. "Yep, I should've seen that coming. That one's on me." You grin.

Without warning, Bucky bursts through the unlocked door, the surprise causing you to yelp and jump up from your seat. "Turn on the radio!"

"What's going on?" You follow him into the living room where he is kneeling in front of the radio, trying to find a particular channel. "Bucky," you huff, annoyed with the lack of answers. Behind you, Steve hobbles into the living room, and you turn to help him into a seat. Bucky finds the channel he's looking for and steps back. Still standing, you listen in horror as the reporter recounts the events.

"Japanese airplanes flew over Pearl Harbor at approximately 7:48 this morning, Hawaii time. The soldiers stationed at Pearl Harbor were taken by surprise and given little time to react. Five battleships have sunk, and over a thousand are presumed dead with the numbers expected to climb."

"Oh my God," you gasp, the situation's weight finally hitting you.

The reporter continues. "The events of this morning are horrific, and America holds her breath as she awaits President Roosevelt's response. He is expected to address the public tomorrow evening. Tune in to hear it live."

You don't realize you're crying until Bucky pulls you into a hug. His arms hold you tightly against him and you bury your face in his chest, hoping this is all some horrible mistake.

The channel cuts back to its original programming, the cheery music completely juxtaposed to the previous horrors of the news broadcast. No one speaks. Bucky gently rubs your back until the tears subside. It feels so nice to be comforted like this, to be held. Even in this horrible situation, you come to the conclusion that one of the best feelings in the world is being hugged by Bucky Barnes. When you're done crying, you take a seat on the couch, feeling a bit numb.

"Those poor men," you breathe.

Something changes in Bucky's face. He grits his teeth and determination enters his eyes. "I'll be back." His voice is gravelly, filled with unreleased emotion.

"Wait, where are you going?" You hate how small your voice sounds. You want to be strong, but you just feel so much.

Bucky just shakes his head and leaves without another word. You look at Steve, hoping for an explanation, but he shrugs, at a loss. The two of you sit in silence waiting for Bucky to come back. When the sun sets and night creeps in with no sign of Bucky, Steve looks at you apologetically.

"I should go...it wouldn't look so good if your parents came home and found us alone."

You nod, knowing he's right. Even though they sometimes work late, it wouldn't be smart to risk it. "Do you need help getting home?"

Steve smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Don't worry about me. I'm just next door and the pain medicine kicked in a while ago. Thank you for all your help."

"I'm happy to."

Steve leaves and you consider going back to your studies, but you don't think you could focus properly after the events of today. Instead, you clean the house and get dinner going in hopes of taking some stress off your parents. They'll have heard the news by now, and with your dad having been previously involved with the air force, you're sure he'll be upset.

Around nine o'clock, you hear the front door open and your parents stagger inside, looking exhausted. You run to them and throw your arms around them, pulling them in close. Your mom sighs and strokes your hair.

"It's horrible, isn't it?" Her voice shocks you. Your mom is normally so forceful and self-assured, sometimes to the point of being a bit frustrating, but it's a part of her. Now, her voice is quiet, breathy, unsure. You don't like it.

"I made dinner." It comes out sounding like more of a question.

Without saying anything, your family sits at the table and quietly eats the meal. The silence is crushing. Finally, you can't stand it anymore.

"Are we going to war?"

Your dad looks you in the eyes, honesty and fear on his face. "I think so, kiddo."

{***}

The next day comes the declaration of war, and the day after, your father receives a letter. After reading it, he pulls your mother into their room and you hear them speaking in hushed voices. Your mother lets out a sob. There's a thump. You rush into the room without knocking and see your mom sobbing on the floor, your dad holding her as best as he can in his arms.

"Y/n, we need some time alone. Why don't you go study?" Your dad's voice is tense, yet kind. Respecting him enough to leave, you turn to go. But the letter on the floor catches your eye, and curiosity gets the best of you. You pick it up.

"Y/n, no-" your dad reaches for the letter, but it's too late. You've seen the words. You know what's coming.

FROM THE UNITED STATES AIR FORCE OFFICE OF CONSCRIPTION. SERVICE REQUIRED.

Your breath comes quickly and you can physically feel your heart beating in your throat. You feel hot and your eyes sting with tears. As the panic rises, you look at your dad, unable to do anything else.

He returns your gaze, his eyes full of pain. "I'm sorry, kiddo."

You can't stay here. You can't breathe in here! You've got to get out. You vaguely register your mom sobbing loudly as you rush from the apartment and into the street.

A/n So this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I wanted to have the events of this chapter separate from the next one. I'll try to update soon! Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think :)


	4. Late December 1941

**A/n Hi everyone! So sorry for how long this took. After Winter Break, school got really crazy and I literally had zero time to sit down and write. Anyways, here's chapter four!**

 **Y/n's POV**

You pant, the run having left you completely spent and out of breath. Taking a look, you see vaguely familiar surroundings and try to remember where you are. The peeling, light blue paint jolts your brain and the pieces connect: _you're at Bucky's house_. You furrow your brows, confused. Seeing as you've only been to Bucky's once or twice, it's a tad odd that you would remember the way. You contemplate going back home. _But you came all this way..._ biting your lip, you walk up the three stairs and knock on the front door. It creaks open without much preamble, and you're met with the wide blue eyes of a young girl.

She scrunches up her face, and, despite your mood, you have to hold in a laugh when you realize that this has to be Bucky's little sister because she scrunches up her face just like he does. "Who are you?"

"I-" you start, but she cuts you off.

"Bucky! Some girl is here for you." Her voice is tinged with disdain.

A boy about the age of eleven appears behind the girl. You met him one of the times you visited Bucky at his home-he's Jack, one of Bucky's brothers.

"That's not some girl, dummy," Jack criticizes, "It's Y/n, Bucky's girlfriend."

"Oh, I'm not-" you hurry to correct, but Bucky appears behind the two, his eyes meeting yours in surprise and the rest of the sentence falls away.

"Lila, what have we told you about opening the door?" He looks at the young girl sternly.

She, Lila, shrugs. "Not to." She doesn't seem very concerned, and you bite back a smile.

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly. "Yeah, you should try that sometime, then."

Lila just smiles and skips into the living room with Jack trailing behind her. Bucky gestures for you to come in.

"Sorry for just showing up, I don't mean to intrude," you begin your apology, but Bucky shakes his head with a gleam in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. It's only right after all the times I've barged into your home dragging a beat-up Steve behind me."

You smile, but don't really feel it. Bucky can tell. "What's wrong?"

You let out a breath, suddenly second-guessing your decision to bother Bucky with your problems.

He grabs your hand and gives it a little squeeze. "Let's go outside and talk." You nod, feeling a little better from his reassurance. "Jack, Lila," Bucky stops into the living room to talk to his siblings, "Y/n and I will be out back. Come get me if the baby wakes up and starts to cry."

The two nod absently, engaged in a game of swords. Bucky grabs a blanket and his coat before leading you through the tiny house and holding the back door open for you. The backyard is small but well-cared for, with a large tree that you're sure looks lovely in spring. Under the tree sits a small wooden swinging chair, and you and Bucky take a seat. It's chilly but not horrible for early December, but you're grateful for the thick blanket and your sweater. Bucky looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to speak. Instead, you fiddle with the edge of the blanket, trying to figure out what exactly you want to tell Bucky, and how. The silence weighs on you. Finally, it all becomes too much and you blurt it out.

"My dad's going to war, Buck." Your voice breaks and tears enter your eyes. This is the first time you've said those words, and you know the meaning behind them. _Your dad could die._

Pain enters Bucky's eyes and he pulls you into a hug you gratefully accept. As you cry, you concentrate on the feel of his arms around you and the pull of the muscles in his back in an effort to ground yourself. Using his foot, he rocks the swing back and forth.

"That's...that's no good, Y/n, I'm sorry."

You sniffle. "I-I just don't understand why. He fought in the last one, he should've been safe!"

"Well hey, they're saying that the war shouldn't last longer than six months, he should be home in no time!" His voice is tinged with false positivity.

"If he doesn't die first." Your voice is grim.

Bucky doesn't have a response, so he just holds you tighter.

The combination of Bucky's arms around you and the gentle rocking of the swing slowly calm you down. When all that's left are sniffles, you sit up straight.

"I'm sorry for dumping all this on you." Your face feels hot.

He smiles and you feel just a tiny bit better. "Don't be. That's what best friends are for. Do you want to go inside? I _think_ -and I'm making no promises here but I _think-_ that there may be some cake left over from Ma's party the other day."

You grin, which feels strange after the crying. "Oh, Bucky, you know just how to treat a gal."

The two of you laugh at yourself and head inside.

"Bingo!" Proudly, Bucky presents you with a slice of chocolate cake.

Just then, the baby begins to cry. Bucky starts towards the stairs, but you wave him off.

"Nuh-uh, you're on cake duty, mister. I'll get the baby."

Bucky nods and searches for a knife. "Charlie."

You nod and climb the stairs. There are four bedrooms, but the sound of the crying makes it easy enough to guess where Charlie is.

"Hey there, little guy." The minute Charlie's been picked up, he begins to calm. Carefully, you descend the stairs and meet Bucky at the kitchen table.

"Well, look who's awake," Bucky grins and leans in to kiss Charlie's forehead. You sit down and shift Charlie to one arm so you can have the other free to eat, but Bucky shakes his head.

"I'll handle the cake, you handle the baby. Now open."

Rolling your eyes, you do as he says and he pops a piece of cake into your mouth.

"Oh, that's good!" You exclaim.

He nods, taking a bite of his own. "Right?"

Displeased with the lack of attention, Charlie begins to cry. As you bounce him in your arms, Bucky feeds you another piece of cake. The whole thing feels very domestic, and you can't help the feeling of warmth and peace that spreads through your body. _This is good._ For the first time in basically forever, you feel the pull of the typical, expected future. Suddenly, in this moment with Bucky, the whole thing actually has _appeal_.

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your thoughts. You shoot up, knowing it's not great for a parent to come home to find a man and woman unaccompanied.

Bucky grabs your hand. "Don't worry about it, it's just Ma."

Relief floods through you. You met Bucky's mother both times you visited, and she's always been incredibly nice and laid back. Once she's done greeting Lila and Jack, Mrs. Barnes enters the kitchen.

"Oh, hi, Y/n! Bucky didn't tell me you were coming over."

A sheepish look crosses your face. "That's because he didn't know. I just kind of barged in."

Mrs. Barnes smiles sweetly. "Well, I'm glad you did. Bucky needs more _consistent_ friendships, anyway."

Neither of you misses her meaning. You busy yourself with bouncing Charlie while Bucky responds.

"Awh, come on, Ma. You know I'm a good guy."

Mrs. Barnes' face softens. "I know. You kids enjoy that cake. It's about time Charlie eats, too." Smiling, Mrs. Barnes happily swings Charlie from your arms, rubbing noes affectionately with her child. "He seems to like you, Y/n. Even Bucky can barely get him to stop crying."

"Hey, I try," Bucky defends himself with a laugh.

"Yes, you do." Mrs. Barnes ruffles his hair. With one last smile for you, she carries Charlie upstairs.

You sigh. "Your mom is so great."

"So's yours," Bucky responds with an easy shrug.

"Yeah but," you huff, "she's just not as warm and kind as yours."

Bucky chuckles ruefully. "You just wait. I can get her really fired up and angry."

"Bucky!" You chide.

He puts his hands in the air with a winning grin. "It's not like I try! Just sorta happens sometimes."

Your chuckles die down and you glance at the clock. With reluctance, you stand. "I should be getting back...I kind of just darted out on my parents, and they've got to be worried."

Bucky stands as well. "I'll walk with you. Probably time I paid Steve a visit, anyway."

 _Steve_. _Steve...who lives right next door to you. Who would have been happy to hug you and let you cry. But you ran to Bucky instead...uh oh._

Bucky furrows his eyebrows and looks at you intently. "You good?"

"Yeah," you smile in hopes of making up for your shaky voice.

"Well then, Doll," he grins and offers you his arm. "Let's get going."

{***}

Two days later, you're surprised to see Bucky sans Steve at your front door.

"Hey, I wanna ask you something. Can I come in?"

Confused and a little worried, you step back so he can enter. He's smiling, so it's obviously not a bad something he needs to ask. You both sit at the kitchen table.

"What is it, Buck?"

"You know how work has been making my dad take on crazy hours, right?" You nod, well aware of the story. "Well my job is starting to do the same thing, so I'll be home less to help Ma out. So she was wondering, since you're so good with the kids and all, if you wouldn't mind helping her out a few days a week? She'd pay you, of course, and you would be responsible for helping her care for the kids, cleaning up, and running errands. She really likes you, so she wanted to make sure she offered the job to you before asking anyone else. Whaddya think?"

Bucky just looks so pleased that you can't help but beam, too. "I'd love to! I love your family, and gosh, it would be great to make the money."

Bucky nods emphatically. "Plus, you can probably find time to study for your nursing school when the kids are napping. And," he grins widely, "I'll get to see you more often, since it's only natural that I'll be walking you home every night."

"Bucky, this is great! Thank you." You're sincerely grateful for this opportunity, and getting to see Bucky more often is a huge bonus.

{***}

 _Late December 1941_

The wind bites your face and your heels sink into the snow. Winter has not been kind to Brooklyn. Two weeks ago, your father left for Japan. The goodbye was horrible. Your mother sobbed and you had bitten a cut into your cheek in your effort to stay strong. Afterward, your mother locked herself in her room for two days. You spent that night sobbing into your pillow but haven't cried since. You've been too busy. The hospital asked your mother to work longer hours, so more of the household duties have fallen to you. In addition to that, you spend three days a week at Bucky's and every ounce of free time studying to be a nurse. Your exam is next week, and while you feel prepared, the nerves eat at your insides.

"Careful there, buddy." Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve by the shirt in time to stop him from falling face-first into the snow.

"Ah, thanks, Buck." Steve wipes his snow-covered hands on his pants before tucking them back into the pockets of his coat. You're all tired from a long day of work, but the silence is weighing on you so you try to make conversation.

"We got a letter from my father today." Both men smile at you. "Dad's settled in Japan, although he can't tell us exactly where. He's flying, I know that much."

"I wonder where you'll go," Steve muses.

You chuckle. "I'm not going anywhere, silly. I'll work in the same hospital as...my mom…" Your voice trails off as realization dawns on you.

Steve is looking at Bucky...meaning the question was directed towards _him_. Your heart begins to burn. You stop walking.

Bucky is glaring daggers at Steve, who now looks sheepish.

You do your best to keep your voice sounding tight and controlled. "What's going on?" But you already know. And you hate it.

Bucky offers you a half, sad smile. "I haven't even gotten my orders yet."

You breathe in a shaky breath. "But you'll get them eventually."

He nods, giving you a level stare. "Yes."

You turn to Steve. "You too?"

He scowls. "No. They won't take me, I've tried five times."

Bucky sighs and wraps an arm around you. "Don't worry, Doll. The war will be over in no time, and then the three of us will all be together again."

You swallow tears and pray he's right.


	5. Early 1942

_**A/n Hey everyone! Just a reminder on the ages: Y/n is about 18, Steve is 24, and Bucky is 25. So it's kind of touching canon, but not really. Thanks for reading!**_

 _Early 1942_

 _ **Y/n's POV**_

Your feet hurt. You've been on them for over twelve hours, so it makes sense. You take off your shoes and hobble into the kitchen to throw together some dinner for you and your mother. She'll be getting back even later than you did due to her overtime, so you plan on having at least something small for her to eat. The water begins to boil, so you head back to your room to change out of your nurse's uniform.

A knock on the front door stops you.

Opening it reveals a solemn-looking Steve and Bucky.

"Oh," is all you can say. Because you know. You know what those looks mean. Men from your neighborhood have been getting shipped out for weeks, so it's no surprise that they've gotten to Bucky. That doesn't lessen the hurt.

"Why don't we go sit down," Steve suggests, his voice gentle. When you don't move, he places his hand tenderly on your elbow and moves to pull you towards the living room.

You throw his hand off of you and yank away. "I don't want to sit down!" The hurt you were expecting, but the anger? That's new. You can tell you've shocked the guys, too. They exchange a look.

You stomp into the kitchen, pulling your hair up into a ponytail as you go. "Sitting down won't keep Bucky safe at home. Sitting down won't keep us with our best friend. Sitting down won't bring my dad back before the war is over. Sitting down won't _fix anything!_ So no, Steve, I don't want to sit down!"

"That's fine." Bucky leans against the counter opposite of you, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at you with a neutral expression on his face. His calm voice and demeanor juxtapose your outburst. "Standing's good, too."

You sigh, crossing your arms and staring straight at him. "You're damn right, it is."

Their heads snap up and they stare at you in shock. Everyone's silent for a moment, and then a giggle escapes you at the absurdity of your actions in this moment.

Bucky and Steve begin to chuckle, too.

"Wowza, Y/n, I never thought I would hear you curse," Steve says through his laughter.

It's all gotten a bit hysteric by now, but there's really no stopping it. The only way on is forward. Before you know it, your laughter has turned into sobs. You bury your face in your hands and slide to the floor. Steve and Bucky look hopelessly at a loss for what do to, so they just sit on either side of you, arms touching your own. You lay your head on Steve's shoulder and work on taking deep breaths to calm yourself down.

"I'm sorry I'm like this."

Bucky waves off your apology. "Don't worry about it. I've seen Steve cry loads of time."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Three times. And one of those was when my parents died, you monster," Steve chuckles affectionately, and you join in, feeling better already. His expression turns thoughtful. "Come to think of it, Buck, I've never actually seen you cry."

Bucky shrugs, a smug, playful expression on his face. "I can't help that I'm so much stronger than you, Stevie. I cry into my pillow at night like a man!"

This sends the three of you into a fit of giggles.

When the laughter has died down, you reach and grab one of Steve's hands and one of Bucky's in your own.

"You know, Bucky, I think you were right. I think that soon, the war will be over and we'll all be together again."

{***}

You glance at the clock and then chide yourself for doing so. _Y/n stop, it's only going to make it worse._ It's Bucky's last night in town, and of course, you have to work. He offered to stay up and walk you home, but you don't get off work until well after midnight and want him to have a fun, last night in America. _Possibly his last night home, ever_ , an evil voice in your head whispers. _Stop, stop,_ you beg.

You swallow, trying desperately not to think about Bucky, and throw yourself into your duties.

{***}

It's after two in the morning when you finally get home. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, you want nothing more than to throw yourself into bed and let sleep take you. But when you turn on the light in your room, you see a piece of paper stuck in your window. Frowning in confusion, you reach for it.

 _Y/n~_

Breathless, you sit on the edge of your bed. You know what this is.

 _I know I'm not always good with showing my emotions, but I trust you, and you're one of my best friends, so here goes._

 _I'm really glad I met you. Honestly, I don't know what Steve and I would do without ya. I know the way we met was a little unconventional (although Steve getting his ass handed to him is one of the few constants in my life so I really should have expected it), but I wouldn't have it any other way. You're kind, encouraging, helpful, funny, strong, smart, and all around just a great human being. Seriously, I don't know what the Big Guy Upstairs was thinkin' when he stuck you with me and Steve, but I'm sure glad he did._

 _I'm also glad that you and Steve will have each other while I'm gone. Try not to let him cry for too long, okay? He's small and probably can't afford to lose that much fluid. Are you smiling? I hope you're smiling. The goal here is to make you laugh even when I'm not there to actually do it so uh, yeah, hope that worked._

And you do crack a smile, because you can hear it in Bucky's voice and see his sheepish expression as he tries to explain himself.

 _Anyways, do your best to keep Steve out of trouble, yeah? I know that's like asking the sun not to rise but I really would like to have him in one piece when I get home. You too, of course, but I'm not as worried about you. Remember what I taught you: feet planted with one slightly behind the other, thumb outside your fist, twist your back foot and hips into the punch to get your full power. I sincerely hope you never have to throw one, but it helps me sleep better to know you can._

 _Look after my family, too. They really like you, even if Lila does give you a hard time. She secretly thinks you're cool, but don't tell her it was me that let the cat outta the bag. She'll make me wish for the front lines, guaranteed._

 _Also, please, for the love of God, don't become an army nurse. I know there's got to be a lot of pressure from the doctors and your coworkers and society, but I'm begging ya. It would kill me if you were anywhere near the fighting. One of the reasons I feel so good about where I'm going is because the people I love aren't going with me. You'll be home where it's safe. I need you to be home safe._

 _And, you know, try not to be too sad if I don't come home._

Your heart jumps into your throat and tears cloud your eyes. _No, Bucky, no._

 _Soldiers not making it back is just a part of war, and I'm happy to be serving my country and making the world safe for my family and two best friends._

 _Most importantly, take care of yourself. Be happy. You're the best of em, Doll._

 _~Bucky_

{***}

Life goes on. You read Bucky's letter every day, often multiple times. By now you have it memorized, but it's comforting to see the letters written in his handwriting, so you keep it with you at all times tucked into your stockings. Steve's been quiet since Bucky left. You thought he would snap out of it, but it's been three weeks, and it's getting exhausting having to be strong for the both of you. Still, Steve is one of your best friends and you would do anything for him, so you let him wallow. You invite him over for dinner and listen to the radio with him after, but his brows are in a constant state of being furrowed and he never seems to be fully present.

Finally, he speaks.

"Y/n, I have something to tell you."

You blink, shocked to be getting a full sentence out of him, even more so that you didn't start the conversation.

"Yes?"

Steve sighs and looks at the ground before seeming to steel himself and looking back into your eyes. _Uh oh._ "I volunteered for a special army program and got accepted. I leave for training tomorrow morning."

"Steve," you breathe as the air rushes out of you. It's suddenly hard to get air back _in_ , and you struggle to breathe. "Steve, you'll _die_! Look at you, there's no way you would survive a fight, let alone when _weapons_ are involved! Steve. Steve." You finally get in a good breath and close your eyes, desperately trying to keep your emotions in check. " _Please_ do not do this." You open your eyes and stare into his, desperately hoping for some sort of miracle where he listens to you for once.

He sets his face in a firm, unwavering expression. "Men are out there risking their lives every day, Y/n. Your dad, _Bucky_...I've got no right to do anything but the same."

You sigh, knowing Steve well enough to understand that once he's set his mind to something, there's no chance of talking him out of it.

"I'm gonna miss you. A lot."

He smiles, but there's too much sadness in it for it to comfort you. "I'm gonna miss you too."

 **A/n Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading :)**


	6. Mid to Late 1942

_Mid to Late 1942_

"Mrs. Barnes?" You peek your head through the open door. "I'm here with the groceries."

"Ah, Y/n! Come on in, thank you!" Mrs. Barnes and Jack meet you at the front door to help you carry in the paper sacks. You follow them into the kitchen and help them put the groceries away.

"Where's Lila today," you question.

"At a playdate with some friends a couple of blocks away." Mrs. Barnes smiles kindly. "She'll be sorry she missed you. How's your father?"

You sigh, crouching down to store the eggs in the bottom of the refrigerator. "Oh, pretty much the same. His leg causes him pain, especially at night. There's not much we can do though since the limb isn't there, but to him, the pain is very real. He takes it all in stride though and always has a smile on his face." You stand, the admiration you have for your father clear on your face. "He's a good man."

Mrs. Barnes smiles and cups your cheek. "That he is, my dear. And _you_ are a good woman, still finding time to help me here and care for your father at home."

You wave off her praises. "Oh, please. I truly do enjoy visiting. It's nice to be reminded of-" You cut yourself off. _Don't finish that sentence, Y/n._ To hide your shaking hands, you busy yourself in the cupboard, pretending to rearrange the items.

Thankfully, Mrs. Barnes changes the subject. "How's work treating you?"

"It's tame compared to what they experience overseas. Those army nurses…" you release a breath. "They really have to do a lot."

"You're not planning on joining them, I hope." You can sense her disapproval.

 _Also, please, for the love of God, don't become an army nurse._ Bucky's words from the letter flash in your mind.

"No, no," you answer, standing now that you're finished with the groceries. "That kind of high-stress lifestyle isn't for me. I'm quite content treating children for scrapes and broken bones."

"Good, they need you here! Too many women are rushing needlessly into danger. They've already taken our sons, what need do they have for our daughters?" Mrs. Barnes' voice chokes up and tears enter her eyes. You pull her into a tight hug.

"He'll come home. He has to. We can't lose hope." Your own voice becomes tight with tears, but you refuse to let them spill. _Most importantly, take care of yourself. Be happy._ Bucky's words give you strength, and you draw in a breath. "Don't lose hope."

{***}

When you walk in the front door, your parents are smiling.

"What is it?" You ask, immediately hopeful. "Did a letter come for me?" You're already rushing to the stack of papers on the kitchen table, wondering if it was Steve or Bucky who wrote you. It doesn't matter. After weeks of complete silence, you would be elated to hear from either one of them!

"What? No, no letter. Come, sit down." Your mother pulls you into the living room, oblivious to the crushing disappointment you feel. With ease due to practice, your father rolls in front of you.

"Y/n." His voice is pleasant, and you grow more suspicious.

"What's going on?"

"One of my pals from work has a son a few years older than you, and we think the two of you would get along swell. His son has agreed to take you out on a date."

A silence fills the room. Then, you begin to laugh. "A date?" You splutter, completely incredulous at the situation. "We're in the middle of a war, and you want me to go on a _date_?"

"Oh, Y/n, _stop_ ," your mother rolls her eyes. "Life doesn't pause just because a war's happening. Life goes on, and you must move with it. You're eighteen, and eighteen year olds go on dates."

"No Mom," you stand. "Eighteen year olds fight and die."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. That's only the men, dear. You are a woman, and if you don't act now, you'll be old and childless before you know it."

And then you see it. The fear and concern in her eyes, as misplaced and annoying as it may be, is real. In her own, shallow way, your mother cares about you. She wants to see you settled and cared for, which in her mind, is the equivalent to happiness. She probably can't help it. It's how she was raised, after all. You just have the fortune of seeing the world a bit differently than she does.

"Alright," you sigh, sitting down. "If it will make you both happy, I'll go on a date with your friend's son."

"Wonderful," your father enthuses. "His name is Nathan Weber, he's twenty-two, and studying at Wells College-that's how he avoided the draft-and…" your father's voice fades away as you focus on your thoughts.

 _By going out with Nathan, you're not...betraying Bucky in any way...right? Of course not. Neither of you had ever shown any expressed romantic interest in each other. Sure you had some feelings...feelings that never came to fruition and don't matter now because he's gone and you're still here. Bucky wants you to be happy. Maybe being with Nathan will make you happy._

{***}

Being with Nathan does not make you happy. Sure, he's well-off, handsome, and driven, but there's not much there. Being with Nathan is much like being in a pool of lukewarm water. It doesn't do anything to excite you or ignite your soul. And if a friendship could do much more than that, surely a relationship should at least come close. Still, it makes your parents incredibly happy, and that's why you're on your fifth date with Nathan. For what it's worth, you and Nathan seem to be in the same boat. He doesn't seem all that interested in you, but it must please his parents because why else would he stick with a girl he doesn't very much care for? When talking to his friends or your parents he's animated and lively, but you never see that side of him when you're alone. Neither of you engages the other in much conversation outside the superficial. You're not particularly warm with each other. Despite all this, you settle into a relationship that's bearable for you and makes your parents ecstatic.

As per expectations, Nathan walks you home. You converse, but not in the easy, witty way you would with Bucky and Steve. Oh, how you miss those times with them. As you walk up the stairs to your apartment, he chats.

"My father is hosting a dinner party for some colleagues next Friday night. Are you free? I would be delighted to have you as my guest." In contrast to his inviting words, his tone is flat.

"Well, lucky for you it happens to be my weekend off. I'd be glad to attend." In an effort to cultivate more intimacy, you reach up to kiss him on the cheek. "What's the dress code?"

Unfazed by your act, he continues in the same, flat voice. "Semi-formal, please. A dress and some nice jewelry should do fine."

You huff, annoyed by his lack of response to your actions. "Alright."

"Which reminds me," you've now stopped in front of your door, and he pulls a large jewelry case from his coat pocket. "I bought this for you as a reminder of my affections. I hope you like it."

You nearly choke when you see the necklace. A graceful silver chain holds a circular pendant that looks suspiciously like sapphire.

"Nathan, I-what?" You splutter, unable to properly react to this incredibly generous and incredibly _unexpected_ gift.

"I like you." He states, though his tone holds very little emotion and he remains unconvincing. "I wanted you to have something nice to wear to the dinner party."

"Wow, um." You swallow. "Thank you. Thank you very much, Nathan."

He smiles, and, though it's not a true smile, it's something. He puts the necklace on you and it feels too heavy, too expensive for a part-time nurse living in Brooklyn who cares for her wounded father and deployed best friend's family. Unaware of your assessment, he kisses you quickly on the lips and then descends the stairs.

You open the unlocked door and see your parents are finishing up dinner.  
"Hi honey, how was your- _what is that_?" Your mother practically shrieks in her excitement.

Unable to help yourself, you touch the sapphire pendant. "Nathan gave it to me as a gift. He said he wanted me to know that he likes me."

"I hear wedding bells!" Your mother squeals and hugs you. Your father grins and rolls his wheelchair to pat you on the back.

 _Wedding bells...wedding bells...wedding bells..._ The phrase repeats in your mind over and over. While you were generally aware that marriage with Nathan was a possibility, you never actually, _realistically_ considered it. Somehow Nathan was just...never who you pictured waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

{***}

A knock on your door pulls you from your book. It's Tuesday morning and you're killing some time before your shift at work.

"Y/n, a letter came for you."

You fly out of your chair and yank the door open. Your dad chuckles and hands you the letter. It's from Steve! Shutting your door, you quickly rip the envelope open and get to the writing.

 _Hey there, Y/n._

 _Sorry I haven't been able to write at all. They've been keeping us up all day and night for training, and any free time I have has been spent trying to get some sleep. Training is hard, but it's good. I'm finally doing something that will let me help people. I'm doing something good. I assume we'll ship out soon, but they haven't gotten to the final phase of my special program yet, so I really don't know._

 _I miss you. The guys here aren't as great as you, but that's to be expected. I met a really amazing woman though. Her name is Peggy. I'm pretty sure I keep making a fool of myself._

You pause to laugh. Of course he would think that.

 _How's life back home? I feel like I've been gone forever even though it's only been six weeks. How's work? They promote you to manager yet? No matter what you're doing, I know you're great. Not me. I'm the worst guy here, hands down. Well, the worst physically. I'm working hard though and I don't plan on giving up, so I guess that's what matters most. Those Nazi's won't know what hit 'em when I get over there._

Something salty falls on your lip, and you realize you're crying. From relief or worry or stress, you don't know. Probably a combination of all that and more. Just the thought of Steve going against Nazis, tiny, sickly Steve who never backs down from a fight, makes your stomach curl.

 _Well I'm almost to the bottom of the page and paper is limited here, so I better sign off. If you can get a response through, would you mind sending me a notebook or something? Tell me how much it costs and I'll send the money back._

 _Hope you're doing well,_

 _Steve_

You roll your teary eyes and grab the nearest notebook from your desk.

 _Steve,_

 _Here's a notebook. I had it on hand so don't even think about sending me money. If you did, I would just buy a war bond anyway. No, it's better to keep the money for yourself to buy extra rations or bullets. I've heard you can do that. You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear from you! I've been so worried. Life does go on though, albeit slowly. Can you tell me anything more about your special program? I'm so curious and I just know you're the perfect man for the job!_

 _I can't believe you met a woman in the army! A whole sea of them in Brooklyn but no, you just_ had _to go off to war to get yourself a "dame". (Don't call her that by the way, it makes women laugh). Just be kind and considerate of her and I'm sure she'll return your affections._

 _Life here isn't very interesting. I'm seeing someone. His name is Nathan, and he's a man of few words. He's nice enough though, and I think that's what matters. At least, my parents are happy with the arrangement. No, they haven't promoted me to manager yet, but it's about darn time! Just kidding, I still only work part-time and have less than a year of experience. I'm not exactly the ideal candidate. My father's home from the war. His plane was shot down somewhere overseas and he lost a leg. He's alright, just in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. My dad is one formidable man though, so he's as positive as ever. I'm just so thankful he made it back home to me. I pray every night that you and Bucky will do the same._

 _True, the other guys there (and Peggy) might be in better physical shape than you, but their hearts are no match for yours. No one cares as much or is as selfless as you, Steve. Don't forget that._

 _Please write back as often as you can. It makes my day so much brighter to hear from you._

 _Praying for your safe return,_

 _Y/N_

{***}

You and Steve exchange letters off and on for the next three weeks. He tries to get more information about Nathan out of you, but you honestly don't have much to tell. You try to get him to ask Peggy out, but he says training camp isn't the right moment. In the fourth week since the first letter, Steve stops responding. You worry incessantly. What could have happened to him? Could he have been killed in training? Was it the Nazis? Sure, it's probably just slow delivery lines, but still. In war, you never know.

Then, in the Sunday paper, you see a headline: NAZIS IN NEW YORK? AMERICAN HERO THWARTS PLAN!

But it's not the headline that keeps your attention. It's the picture. Because captured in a black-and-white still is Steven Grant Rodgers, running down a New York street. Well, almost Steven Grant Rogers. It's like if Steve had an older, much more physically able, brother. Same face, but completely different build. Immediately, you grab a pen and paper and write him a letter. You even pay for extra postage and markings so the postal service knows it's a priority. You hope his address has stayed the same.

Four days later, you get a response: _I can't explain now. I'll visit you soon and we'll talk then. By the way, I promise I'm still the same guy._

{***}

You hurry into your room and drop your work bag, going into your closet to choose your outfit for your date tonight. Your door shuts behind you. You pause. _Did you...push the door?_ You feel a presence behind you and whip around, nearly screaming, but a hand clamps over your mouth.

"It's okay, it's okay! It's just me."

Your heart is still racing but you calm because Steve is standing in front of you.

"Steve," you gasp and throw your arms around him in a hug. He hugs you back with a very loose grip.

"Sorry," he apologizes, noticing your confused look. "I still don't quite know how to control all this new strength."

"Yeah, about that." You laugh in awe and sit back on your bed, staring at him. "What _happened_?"

"I'm technically not supposed to say anything, but you're family, so I'm figuring it's alright."

You grin. _Typical Steve Rogers. Bending the rules without admitting it._

He tells you all about training, and jumping on the grenade, and the serum, and the Nazi attack.

"Dr. Erskine didn't make it, but we stopped the spy. Lost the vial though." Steve's voice is sad, his face downcast. You can see the toll this has taken on him and, pulling on his arm to convince him to sit on the bed, you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"You did all you could. Out of everyone in the world, Steve, few truly give it their all. You're one of those people."

He smiles, though his eyes are still sad. "Thanks, Y/n."

"So the serum is gone, but do you remember how it works? Maybe you could re-create it."

Steve shakes his head. "I have a very basic understanding, but I don't know all the science behind it. Best I can understand, it's a chemical combination that transforms your entire body and mind, amplifying the good and the bad. The serum, combined with exposure to Vita Rays, creates the ideal soldier. So I'm strong, I'm fast, my reflexes are quick, my instincts are top-notch, and my brain works a lot better now. Plus, all those conditions I had are seemingly gone." He gives a breathless laugh. "It's a complete change."

You smile back at him. "Not a complete change. You're still you. You're still good and brave and caring, and one of the best friends in the world."

He grimaces. "Not a lot of good it does me. I want to ship off and fight, save my country. But instead, the higher-ups have shows lined up for me. I'm supposed to boost morale and war bonds sale."

You try your best to stay positive. "War bonds are really important. The money produced can buy uniforms or bullets or medicines that can save a soldier's life."

You both get quiet as you have the same thought. _A war bond could save_ Bucky's _life...is he even still alive?_

"Have you heard from him," you ask tentatively, playing with your quilt.

Steve shakes his head. "No. You?"

"No."

"No news is good news." Steve tries to cheer you both up with some positivity. "If something major happened to the 107th, there would be some news about it."

Encouraged, you jump in. "I visit Bucky's family at least once every week. They haven't received a condolence letter."

Steve nods. "That's good."

There's a knock on your front door.

"Shoot, I forgot. Nathan is here to pick me up for our date."

"Nathan?" Steve looks interested. "I should meet this guy, get an impression off of him."

"No way. Licorice, remember?" You shake your head, opening your bedroom door. "Just a minute! I'm not quite dressed yet."

Steve grimaces. "I should get going anyway."

"Woah, wait, so soon?" Tension sits low in your stomach as you're faced with the reality of saying goodbye to Steve once again.

He tries to reassure you with a smile. "I'll be back in no time, don't you worry. Those Nazi's will fall like dominoes once we get our strategy together. I'll see you on the other side of the war, okay?"

Biting your lip, you nod, getting a proper hug out of him.

"Be safe."

He nods, serious. "You too."

You watch him climb out your window and down the fire escape. Then, you hastily change into an outfit appropriate for a date. Once presentable, you open the front door.

Nathan storms in, eyes wild and mouth set into a hard line.

"Where is he?"

"Nathan," you admonish, following him into your bedroom that he wastes no time tearing apart. He looks under the bed, in the closet, behind the door, and out the window.

"Wha-Nathan, stop!"

"Where is he, you hussy, huh?"

You blanch, surprised and offended at what he just called you. " _Excuse_ me?"

He whirls around, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you against the wall. "I will _not_ be made a fool, do you understand? The woman I date will not sleep with another man!" He slams his hand into the wall next to your head, and you begin to hastily explain, fear coursing through your veins.

"No, Nathan please, I would never be that stupid! It was just my friend Steve, he's visiting and he used to live next door so he just goes in and out the window! Nothing happened between us, I swear! He's just one of my close friends, promise!"

"How do I know you're telling the truth, huh? How do I know this hasn't been going on for months and I only just caught you now?"

His face gets closer to you, angry and menacing. Panicked, you fling an arm in a gesture to your desk.

"T-the paper from last Sunday. It has his picture and his full name on it. Then you'll know that he's been away at training and I haven't been sleeping with him."

He squeezes the tops of your arms before stalking to your desk and retrieving the paper. His face changes the moment he sees the headline. Anger, confusion, and...realization. Finally. You sigh, shaky as he slowly walks back towards you.

"My dear, I am so sorry for the way I behaved just now."

You swallow. "It's alright. You're just stressed."

He smiles calmly. "Exactly. I'm just stressed. Work is quite demanding, the war is putting a strain on the economy, and I do still have my parents to answer to. I'm sure you understand. Now, can we please go out to dinner?"

You draw in another steadying breath and take his outstretched arm without a word.

He exhales. "Good."

{***}

The next two months pass with few developments. The tide of war constantly turns depending on which newspaper you read. Still, they all promise an Allied victory. You have no idea where Bucky is stationed and therefore can't write to him. The same for Steve. Things with Nathan have improved though. Ever since his outburst, he's been much kinder to you. He asks about your day more often, shows more affection, and seems like he enjoys spending time with you. So when he proposes in early November, you have no reason to decline. Well, no reason that would make sense to everyone else. As predicted, the news sends your parents over the moon. There's cheering, weeks of parties, and suddenly it's mid-December and you're walking down the aisle. As you make the trek, you continuously remind yourself that you're not betraying anyone and try not to be too sad that your two best friends aren't there for the occasion. _But if they were, would this even be happening_?

After a quick honeymoon in Upstate New York, you and Nathan move into a relatively large apartment on the other side of Brooklyn. Nathan is rarely home, and when he is, he has no interest in you, besides the sex. This saddens you, but should you really expect anything else? You're cared for, and that, according to the world you live in, matters. Still, you can't help but long for a marriage built on love. Would you ever find that love? Could you and Nathan ever get there?

It's approaching Christmas and, after your shift at the hospital, you make a nice dinner for you and Nathan. He comes home and seems to be in a good mood.

"Hello dear, how was your day?"

You blink as you take his coat. He very rarely inquires about your day.

"It was fine, thank you for asking. Yours?"

"Well, unfortunately, it was incredibly stressful, but I'm home now with you, so I feel better."

You chuckle, nervous for some reason from the unexpected compliment.

"I'm glad you feel that way. Can I do anything else to ease your stress?"

He smiles and sits at the table. "I was hoping you could distract me with a story or two. Tell me about your life before you met me."

You cough. "Well, I was born in-"

"No no, you misunderstand." He cuts you off. "Tell me about your life in New York."

"Oh." You pause and think for something good to tell him. You decide on the story of your first date, where Steve and Bucky took up the role of older brothers and 'chaperoned', throwing licorice at the man when he tried to put his arm around you. It hurts to think of Steve and Bucky, given how much you miss them, but it's also nice to remember a time before the war, when it was just you three and life was good.

Nathan laughs pleasantly and looks genuinely interested as you tell the story. This encourages you. _Perhaps we're making progress!_

"That's a good one, dear. I'm glad they didn't see fit to chaperone _us_!"

You chuckle and don't bother to correct him that they couldn't because they'd enlisted.

"Your friends seem like good men. I hope the war treats them well."

You look down at your dish. "I hope so, too."

Nathan takes a bite. "I don't worry about your friend Steve, though. From what I've read in the papers, he underwent quite the transformation. I doubt even Hitler himself could scare him now."

You grin. "Nothing really ever scared Steve, even when he was small. He's a good man, even more so now since the transformation."

Nathan dabs his lips with his napkin. "Yes, how do you suppose that transformation worked? I've been so curious."

Excitement fills you. You and your husband are having a real conversation! Sentences are long, questions and answers are going back and forth. It gives you hope for the future of your marriage.

"When Steve visited, he mentioned the transformation as being due to a combination of a chemical serum and Vita Rays. Apparently, it amplifies the good and bad in the subject. So the good becomes great and the bad becomes worse. Luckily, Steve doesn't have a bad bone in his body. Well," you smile fondly in remembrance, "maybe his penchant for finding loopholes to get what he wants."

Nathan chuckles.

"Thanks to the process, Steve is now incredibly strong, agile, fast, and his brain can process information at a quicker rate than yours or mine. It's remarkable."

"Yes," Nathan agrees with a smile. "America's scientists truly are something special."

Finishing the last few bites of your dinner, you add as an afterthought: "Don't tell anyone, of course. I'm not sure if that information is made to be public."

Nathan lays a hand on your thigh. "Darling, I'm your husband. You can trust me."

 **A/n Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think :)**


	7. Early 1943

_Early 1943_

The crisp March air bites at your face as you hurry through Brooklyn's crowded streets. It's Tuesday afternoon, and you promised Mrs. Barnes that you would stop by sometime this week to give her a hand with the children. It's a bit of a walk from your new apartment to the Barnes' residence, but you don't mind. You just wish it wasn't so dang cold. As you walk, you ponder what you should make for dinner. _Perhaps a nice soup? That would work well with the weather._ Turning the corner causes you to come to a staggering halt. Your stomach drops through the ground, your blood runs cold, and _what_ is that rushing sound? Your body feels like it's on fire and frozen at the same time. Your limbs go slack and you cease to breathe because two impeccably uniformed officers with hats removed are knocking on Bucky's door. _Oh no. No no no no no no no, please God, no._ But your pleas go unheard. Bucky's mother answers the door, the officers hand her a letter, and with a shriek so awful it tears your insides apart, she falls to the ground.

And then you're moving.

Turning away from the horrific scene, you sprint as far as your legs will take you. Your legs and lungs burn and you're pretty sure you lost your hat somewhere along the way, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, because Bucky is dead. Bucky Barnes, your best friend and favorite person in the world, is _dead._

"He's dead, he's dead. Oh God, he's dead," Grief slams into you and you collapse into the wall, falling into an alleyway. The gravel scrapes your knees, only adding to the hurt you feel. Tears cascade down your face and you don't try to stop them, not even when you cough and choke and can't get any air. The hole in your chest painfully grows as you remember everything you can about Bucky.

 _Ice blue eyes, lopsided grin, laugh that sounds like-_

You freeze. _Oh God, what does it sound like?_

This sends you into a new wave of hysteria and you gasp, suddenly feeling like you yourself are dying too.

Absently and somewhat absurdly, you think how Steve and Bucky would chide you for being in an isolated alleyway alone. A new pit forms in your stomach. _Steve. Does he know_? You desperately hope you're not the one to have to tell him. Then again, there's no way _to_ tell him. You haven't had contact in months and you have no idea where he's stationed. _Poor Steve...his best friend_ ….My _best friend._ You put your head in your hands and allow yourself to feel all the horrible emotions that are crashing into you.

Hysteria turns to sobbing, sobbing to sniffling, and sniffling to staring blankly at the brick wall across the alleyway.

It's dark when you finally register your surroundings again. You sigh, knowing it's time to pick yourself up and get home. The fact that no one has stopped and asked if you're alright tells you that this area is deserted and therefore dangerous. With a groan, you use the wall to help yourself stand up and brush off your dress. It's filthy, but what does it matter? The dress needs to go anyway, as do the shoes. You don't want to keep anything that would remind you of this horrible day.

You flag down a cab and give it your home address. As the buildings pass, you can't help but scoff. _By 19 I've lost my best friend. Should've stayed in Ohio._ The bitterness crawls into your throat but you push it back down, not wanting to get worked up again before seeing Nathan. _Ugh._ Still, tears prick your eyes and you try to nonchalantly brush them away while paying the cabbie. You feel a numbness work its way through you. Subconsciously you know you should be concerned by this, but you can't figure out how to make yourself focus on anything but the heaviness in your limbs.

You trudge up the stairs and pause. _Don't. Cry._ You push open the door.

"Where the _hell_ have you been," Nathan snarls, coming at you from the living room.

Staring blankly over his shoulder, you turn to close the door. He pushes at your back, trapping you against the door. He's warm.

"I've been home for hours and where were you? Off galavanting with friends and ignoring your wifely duties!"

 _Ugh, these shoes! My feet are killing me. I've gotta change._ You push past him and walk to the bedroom, dropping your purse on the vanity.

Nathan follows, footsteps rattling the windows. "You are _lucky_ we still had some casserole left from when the Johnson's visited or else you…" he breaks off his words and hits the wall. He pants.

Finding the wall to be a nice focal point indeed, you take off your shoes and discard them in the back of the closet.

Nathan's face contorts and turns an ugly shade of purplish red. "Are you even listening to me?"

 _Now, what to do with the dress? You could give it to Dottie…_

"Hey!"

You turn to the drawers and search for your comfiest pajamas. _Yes, Dottie would like the dress. Or you could always burn it...down the trash chute would do, too._

"You better listen and listen well. You are _forbidden_ from going to that _soldier's_ -" he spits out the word like it's a rotten carrot "house. I forbid you from _ever_ seeing him again!" Nathan surges forward, grabs the top of your arms, and gives you a jarring shake. It's enough to make you focus, and the anger and hurt come stabbing back. You can feel the glare morph on your face and know it must be a frightening sight.

"Well, that won't be a problem, Nathan, because he's dead!"

You see the shock on Nathan's face, and he releases your arms, taking a step back.

"Darling, I-"

A burning, clawing sensation starts in your stomach. "He's _dead!"_ Your shriek echos through the apartment and, with all your energy officially spent, you sink to the floor, sobbing in a crouch.

Finally, there's silence. Well, except for your crying. Nathan stands still.

When he speaks, his voice is so tight and so quiet that you have to strain to hear it. "I've received word from headquarters. We're moving to Russia. Pack your bags and the kitchen." With that, he strides from the room.

 _February 1945_

 _Steve,_

 _I don't know where you are. I hope you're alright. As always, Russia sucks. The people are starving and freezing and dying at home and starving and freezing and dying on the front. I don't want to put too much pressure on you (and it helps that you'll probably never see this letter), but please hurry and win the war._

 _As guilty as I feel saying it, I'm glad I live in the compound. I don't think I would survive long on the outside. And, as cowardly as this next bit is, I can admit it to you because I trust you not to judge me. Living inside the compound allows me to ignore all that's going on outside. I'm safe from Stalin, I'm safe from the Nazis. I'm safe from starvation, I'm safe from the cold, I'm safe from the violence. I'm a little too close to the war for comfort (I liked it much better when there was an ocean between me and it), but I'm safe. For all of Nathan's faults, he's done a good job of keeping me safe. And I guess in this world, that's all you can hope for._

 _My job is going well. Who knew scientists could be so clumsy? Every day I feel like I'm treating a set of bruised ribs or a broken arm. Just yesterday a guy came in with an entire handprint on his neck. The bruises were_ so _deep and honestly, I'm surprised he wasn't more concerned. Says a friend got testy but I'm not sure I believe that. More likely is he got in a fight over some cards._

 _Nathan must be doing well because we were relocated last week to a larger suite. I'm actually supposed to be unpacking now. While the space is nice, the move itself is frustrating. Since it's a joint living and research facility, many areas of the compound are restricted to me. I got really good at avoiding the restricted areas and learning shortcuts from our previous quarters, but now I have to start from scratch. It feels like every ten feet there's a locked door or an angry security guard telling me to go the other way. On the bright side, I'm acquiring a very specific set of Russian curse words._

 _Still no baby, not that I really want one right now. It just seems like the next step. My mom, of course, is horrified that I haven't given her a grandchild yet. Not that she would be able to meet it anyway. We're buried in a compound in Russia under three layers of permafrost, and there's no way I'm getting on a plane or boat again during a war._

 _Not to state the obvious but I miss you. A lot. And I miss New York. I miss my parents. I miss feeling something other than cold and sad. Or worse, cold and nothing. It might be better during the summer. Maybe I'll get to go outside. Go to a market...buy some fruits...talk to someone other than Nathan. Hopefully, the war will be over by then. Just do your best and stay safe. When all this is over maybe we can see each other again._

 _Make it home soldier, that's an order._

 _With love,_

 _Me_

With a sigh, you seal the letter in an envelope and add it to the stack hidden behind your bookcase. It's your day off from the infirmary and you have six more hours before Nathan gets home. You purse your lips, wondering how to fight the boredom. You _could_ unpack, but that sounds awful. You're hungry. Cooking would fix that. _Oh!_ An idea pops into your head. You can take some lunch to Nathan! He seemed frustrated this morning and you really don't want that to carry over to tonight. If he's in a bad mood, you can't help but be tense too.

After an hour you have a nice picnic-esque lunch packed and you've styled your hair and makeup in a moderately presentable way. The eyeliner on one eye is definitely longer than the other but it's fine. With a mental shrug, you head out the door.

Almost immediately, you're lost. The labyrinthine compound stretches in all directions and each option seems equally dark and forbidding. With a sigh, you scan for the least scary-looking security guard. Your mark is a skinny man with bushy blonde hair and a slight underbite. _Bingo_.

You put a soft smile on your face to show your non-threatening intentions and slowly approach the man.

"Excuse me sir, but I'm a bit lost. Could you please point me in the direction of…" You trail off, seeing his hopelessly confused expression.

 _Damn._ You bite your lip. _No English._ With a resigned sigh, you focus really hard on the Russian words and phrases you've picked up from your time in the compound. Most of Russian you have is medical or curse word related, but after a few minutes of concentrated effort, you think you've got it. Or, at least, something close.

The guard's eyes light up in understanding. "Ah, da, da."

You can tell your Russian has improved because you only have to ask him to repeat his directions once, compared to your usual three. With a nod and a word of thanks, you're off.

Once you reach the area of the compound where Nathan's office is located, you feel much more comfortable. Most of the men here speak English and you're familiar with them after two years of living here. Not to say they don't still give you the creeps, but at least you can communicate effectively with them.

"Anatoly, hi," You greet as you step up to the desk.

He grins, staring openly at your chest and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"Mrs. Weber, always a pleasure."

You match his fake politeness. "Likewise. I was hoping I could see my husband? He left without breakfast this morning and I've brought him some lunch."

A voice interrupts as Vasily swaggers over. "Ah, Mrs. Weber! I hope you brought a treat for me as well." The thickly-accented English doesn't mask his suggestion.

You give a C+ effort at turning your grimace into a smile. But as much as you don't like these guys, angering them would be worse. They could easily restrict your access to the few areas of the compound you can actually go to, and the thought of that is enough to make you force the corners of your mouth up a couple more milliliters.

"I can neither confirm or deny that there is a batch of cookies included in this basket. That will be something to take up with my husband. Speaking of whom, can I see him? I want to surprise him with lunch."

The men dissolve into a quick deliberation in Russian. You don't catch much, but in the end, they seem to decide you're not a security risk and allow you to be accompanied through a secured door. Your curiosity piques. You've never been through this door before and you've never seen Nathan's office.

In the end, it's not all that interesting. It looks just like a normal office. Cubicles take up the majority of space and walled offices line the edges. The men in the cubicles give you stares ranging from curious to annoyed to lecherous. You mentally shrug it off. Vasily takes you to the far end of the room and knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Vasily grins and pokes his head through the door. "Special delivery." With that, you're allowed to enter the office. Nathan immediately looks upset and shoves a stack of files into a desk drawer. He barks a set of angry-sounding words in Russian to Vasily, who hangs his head in shame. You grip the folds of your skirt nervously.

"I-I'm sorry Nathan, is this a bad time? I didn't mean to disturb you."

With obvious effort, Nathan smoothes his face. "No, no, it's not your fault. The men _know_ to check if I am ready for visitors."

Vasily takes a stumbling step back and shuts the door.

Nathan officially invites you in and plasters a serene smile on his face. This puts you more at ease.

"You seemed a bit tense this morning, so I thought I would surprise you with lunch and dessert."

At this, Nathan winks and pats his lap. You go to him obediently and sit, setting the basket on the desk and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"And," he grins and gives your neck a kiss. "Just what would my dessert be?"

Your eyes flutter shut as his kisses find a lower target.

"Well I-I brought cookies, but that seems kind of lame now." This brings out a chuckle in both of you. You smile, soaking this moment in. If you're honest, you and Nathan don't have a great marriage. But in moments like these, when he's nice and can laugh and you can shed your ever-present numbness, you enjoy being married to him. You can pretend he's your One.

You bring your face down to his and press a soft kiss to his lips. The kiss quickly deepens and you shift to straddle him.

Nathan pulls away grinning, a question in his eyes. "Shall I close the blinds?"

You bite your lip, fighting a grin yourself. "Do it." There's fire in your veins at the impending risk, the excitement. It's intense and you want nothing more than to chase it with all you've got.

So you do.

{***}

Sex while Nathan's at work is a thrill, and goodness knows you need more of that. So you go back again. And again. And again. Vasily and Anatoly don't even blink when you show up. They simply confirm with Nathan that it's alright and press a button to unlock the door. Sometimes you bring goodies for them or even the entire office, depending on how bored you are. It's a nice distraction, for a while. But as the weather warms and the war fades, you're desperate for more.

And on a temperate August day, More corners you in the market.


	8. Early 1946

_January 1946_

"Bye honey, have a nice day."

With a stiff smile, Nathan is out the door.

You count to fifty. Peeking into the hall, you find that Nathan is nowhere in sight. Once he leaves for work he never comes back until the end of the day, but you find yourself feeling nervous regardless. Shaking it off, you retreat to your bedroom. Your bookcase and the wallpaper behind it conceal the hole in the wall you cut all those months ago. The hole is only large enough to conceal the phone and maybe a stack of folded paper. You pick up the phone and hold it to your ear.

"Operator."

"Kearnston's shoe store, please."

A _click_.

A stern male voice. "This is an employee training day. Please call back tomorrow."

"I'll be quick. Do you have size nine chartreuse Oxfords in stock?"

"Let me transfer you to sales."

And finally, the assured, friendly voice you're used to hearing is on the other line. "Yes?"

"Check-in, Y/n Weber."

Agent Carter encourages you to continue.

"Security has been heightened in the compound due to unknown reasons but I still have access to certain areas. I found files in Nathan's desk regarding the following projects: Battlefield Medic Initiative, Oblivion Guns, and Reflective Panels for Objects in Flight. And of course, the Super Soldier Serum Replication." You go quiet, the project reminding you painfully of Steve.

 _Rest well, brave friend._

"What did they have on the serum replication?" Peggy's professional tone brings you back into focus.

"They've brought an associate of Dr. Zola in on it and are set to begin round 5 of experimentation within the next two months. They intend to carry out the experiments here."

Your stomach churns at the thought of all the suffering that's going to occur and is likely already occurring just a few floors down.

You continue. "I know they have access to the vita rays-I saw the machines in transport. As for what's in the serum, I don't know. And as for the oblivion guns, those are ready to go."

"Wha-already?" Peggy's voice echos the shock you felt upon first making this discovery. In your last check-in just six weeks ago, you had been confident in your report that the guns were barely in the prototype step.

"Yeah, I saw the plans. Three thousand will be taken by train to Moscow on January 25, and from there they'll catch the sixteen-hundred hours plane to a facility in Germany. There, they'll be distributed for special ops use. That's all I got."

"Well done, Y/n, thank you. Call in the next time you have something but otherwise, I look forward to hearing from you in six weeks at your check-in."

"Okay, talk to you then. Stay safe." You cast your eyes downward, remembering how you used to say the same words to your dad, Bucky, Steve….

"You as well. And Y/n?" Peggy catches you right before you hang up. "They would be proud of you."

With shaking hands, you hang up the phone. _Proud and furious._

You sit back on your heels, remembering. The day Peggy pulled you into a deserted alleyway near the market changed your life forever. Finding out your husband works for Hydra and is a terrible human being was hard to swallow but not necessarily shocking. In the times you had visited him in his office or brought treats to the men or accompanied your husband through certain areas of the compound, you had noticed things. A dangerously skinny man. A map with Allied bases marked as targets. A receipt for weapons sold to the Nazis. And pictures of Steve. So many pictures of Steve. At first, you told yourself the lies Nathan had been telling you for so long: He's part of a special group that spies on the Axis powers, and that's why you both have to be located in Russia and kept safe in this secure compound. You categorized the starving man as someone just back from a mission and needing time to recuperate. The map as imagining the Allies as the Axis powers saw them, nothing more than a strategy to get into the enemy's head. The weapons as a means of drawing Nazis out so the Allies could attack. And the pictures of Steve, remnants of the Allies' continued efforts to recommence the Super Soldier project.

But when Peggy had shown you the evidence and confirmed what you had tried so desperately not to know, the carefully constructed protective scaffolding you had built around yourself came crashing down. You could lie to yourself no more. Nathan works for Hydra.

Your first thought had been of your dad, Steve, and Bucky, who all put their lives on the line so you would be safe. The words from Bucky's letter had come back to you, taunting: _It would kill me if you were anywhere near the fighting. One of the reasons I feel so good about where I'm going is because the people I love aren't going with me. You'll be home where it's safe. I need you to be home safe._ You had resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to hang your head. It had been Bucky's last wish for you, and you had let him down.

When Peggy finally revealed her name, you had snapped to attention, remembering her from Steve's letters. But as soon as you mentioned Steve, her face fell, and you knew. You didn't even have the energy to cry, you just felt so drained and the weight of all the hopelessness pushed against you, threatening to drown you.

But then Peggy had offered you a lifeline.

The agency hadn't been able to get a person inside the compound yet and was desperate for some intelligence, so they were willing to look past Peggy employing the help of a civilian.

Peggy had explained the risks clearly. She told you that you could be killed. But you had already made up your mind. Then, it was Steve's words that came to you: _Men are out there are risking their lives every day, Y/n. Your dad, Bucky...I've got no right to do anything but the same._ It had been many years since Steve had spoken those words, but the truth in them remained. The war had crippled your father and taken Bucky and Steve. They had paid the ultimate price and, in doing so, bought you time. Time to try and make a life. Time to learn to love your husband. Time to find excitement and happiness in the everyday. But those joys had eluded you. Now you know why. The torch had been passed and it was time for you to finish what your father and Bucky and Steve had started. The armistice had been called but the war was far from over.

It was time for you to enlist.

{***}

 _March 1946_

Dmitri gives you a gleaming grin that, in another world, would actually be handsome. In this one though, he's evil and currently ogling you, so attractiveness has gone out the window.

"I had hoped you would be stopping by soon," he croons. "I often look forward to our…" he takes a full breath and deepens his stare, "interactions."

Playing along for the sake of your objective, you lean onto the counter, giving him a semblance of encouragement.

"Oh, me too. I went out of my way to deliver these macrons to you. I know how much you like them."

His hand trails lazily up your arm, ending on your neck.

"Ah, such a thoughtful little dove. Since you have caught me unawares, I shall have to improvise my gift to you."

He leans in for a kiss, and you allow a brief touch of your lips before pulling back and placing a nervous look on your face.

"Wait, sometimes my husband works in this area." You lean closer and look at Dmitri from under your eyelashes, a trick you know he'll fall for. "If he caught us I…" You lick your lips before staring directly at Dmitri, who gives you all his focus. "Well, I just don't even want to think about never seeing you again. Let me go look for him and make sure he's not around. If it's safe, I'll come back and you can take your break and…" You trail off with a smile, taking his hand in yours and kissing his knuckles.

Dmitri gulps and a sly grin comes across his face. He pulls you in close.

"You have fifteen minutes, little dove."

And just like that, you're allowed unaccompanied access to a restricted area of the compound. You check your watch, mindful of your time limit, and know that going downstairs is likely to yield the most information. While there are many restricted areas on your level of the compound, all the real illegal stuff goes on further underground. You hear footsteps and slide into a nearby doorway to hide as a patrol passes. As soon as they're gone, you try the door leading to the stairway.

It's locked. Of course.

With a sigh, you reach under your dress and pull the lockpicking tools Peggy had given you during one of your few market meet-ups. She had even made you a thigh holster to keep the tools secure and hidden. You smile. _What a sweet and practical soul_. From the recesses of your brain, you recall Bucky declaring you would prefer a life of excitement. _Oh, how right he had been._

As a 22-year old married woman, all the men here underestimate you. They see you as young enough to be attractive and foolish but married enough to be without risk any long-term baggage. It's the perfect cocktail to allow you to manipulate them all and spy for the SSR.

A soft _click_ and the door is opened.

Quietly, you sneak down two levels of stairs, deciding you don't have time to venture any further.

A terrible, loud groaning stops you. Your heart beats wildly. _What was that?_

You hear the sound again coming from a few floors below. You know you don't have the time for this, but whoever is making all that noise sounds like they're in deep distress, and the nurse in you can't help but take off at a sprint.

Panting lightly, you make it to the landing and follow the sounds into what looks like a jail. You gulp. _What sorts of people does_ Hydra _lock up?_ But the groans become increasingly pained, and you press forward.

 **Bucky/Winter Soldier POV**

The sound of approaching shoes makes his stomach twist. _They're coming for me_. The fact that the footsteps are lighter than usual causes alarm bells to go off in his head. _Something is different._ But the sharp pains return and the man's focus shifts back to himself.

"Hey, are you okay?" A woman's voice, soft, quiet, and vaguely familiar comes from the other side of the cell door.

He groans again, pulling on his hair. Why _does he know that voice_?

It had been like this for years. Flashes of memories, snippets of sounds or smells reminded him of...a man he used to know? A man he once was? He couldn't figure it out. But what he _did_ know, was that alerting his handlers to these intrusions would only lead to more pain for him, so he works to suppress the thoughts running through his head.

"I-I'm a nurse. Please let me help you."

He knows it's a trick, it has to be. He knows better than to engage. But the voice is soft and inviting and nothing like he's heard in the past who knows how long, so he turns and looks.

The woman's breath seems to leave her and she falls to the ground, mouth open. She tries to take in breaths but struggles like she'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"Miss…?" His voice is hoarse after not using it in a while for much other than screaming.

Tears come into the woman's eyes and with shaking hands, she grips the cell bars, using them to pull her onto her knees.

"Bucky." Her voice is barely audible and if his hearing wasn't enhanced he probably wouldn't have heard it, but the effects are debilitating.

Bright flashes and distorted voices assault his mind as memories of a man long dead try to swim to the surface. He groans again, trying to all at once repress and make sense of them.

Still shaking, the woman hurriedly takes out a set of tools and begins picking the lock on the cell door. He knows it's wrong. He knows he should call a handler and report the crime.

But the man buried deep down yells at him to stop.

The woman has succeeded in her task and throws open the door, running to him. She stops, crouching to sit so they're eye to eye. Hands unsteady and eyes disbelieving, she reaches out and lightly runs her fingers over the side of his face.

The touch is so soft and so unlike anything he's felt in a long time, and he leans into it. He lets his guard down. The condemned man in his head cheers.

"Bucky," she breathes, tears freely streaming down her face now.

Curiously, he catches one on his finger. It's been so long since he's seen any other than his own. The woman watches, quietly mumbling that same word: Bucky.

 _Why does all this feel so familiar? The word, the woman._ Giving attention to the confusion allows the cracks in his defenses to widen, and through them, comes recognition.

"Y/n…" Before he fully understands why, he's murmuring the name he sure belongs to this woman.

Her face lights up, and she nods. "Yeah, Buck. It's me."

 _Y/n_. Images come rushing back. Hot summers, roaring laughter, a backyard swing in winter, movie theatres, chocolate cake, tall buildings, and so much more. And the woman is in every single one of them. The man feels a warmth like he's never felt before spread through him.

"Y/n!" And he pulls her in for a tight, desperate hug. Having clawed his way back into control, Bucky resurfaces. For now, the Winter Soldier lies dormant beneath the waves.

"Oh my God, Y/n, what are you doing here?" Unwilling to let her go completely, Bucky pulls back only far enough to see her face.

Y/n lets out a shuddering breath. "Me? What about you! I thought you were dead!" Her voice cracks and he can see the hurt in her eyes.

Shame fills him, though he knows objectively it was out of his control.

He allows himself a few more seconds of hugging her, of stroking her hair, of marveling that, after being torn from her and tortured to the point of forgetting her existence, he's with her again. She's in his arms, something he never thought would happen again. But this isn't Brooklyn. It's Hydra, and good things don't last here.

"Alright." He swallows, dreading what he must do next but knowing he needs to. His desire to keep Y/n safe and away from Hydra is stronger than his desire to have her next to him. "Alright, you've gotta get out here."

She immediately looks betrayed and frightened. "What? No." She stares at him, seeing that he's serious. "Bucky, no. There's no way I'm leaving you."

"Y/n, I'm not messing around. You need to leave before they find you. This place is dangerous and they are-"

"I don't care!" She cuts him off, voice rising in pitch. "The past three years I've lived thinking you were dead and I'm not about to just leave you here by yourself! This is _Hydra_."

Bucky scoffs, his fear for Y/n accidentally channeling into anger. _Ugh,_ _why wouldn't she just_ listen _to him?_ "Yeah, I sort of noticed that."

But Y/n stays calm and uses logic to try and break him down. "Look, I know the way out. We just have to be quiet. And we need to hurry because-"

Flashing red lights and a blaring alarm interrupt them. Both heads snap up.

"Uh oh," Y/n gulps. "I think I caused that."

A burning lump forms in Bucky's stomach. He knows whatever's coming won't be good.

He huffs, pulling them to their feet. Still weak from experimentation though, he stumbles and Y/n grips his torso, holding him up. "Okay," Bucky concedes, "we'll try your idea."

Somehow, amidst all the chaos, Y/n finds it in her to shoot him a weak exasperated grin. And, even though he's terrified for them both and knows their future is bleak, Bucky can't help but be endlessly grateful for her.

They make it out of the cell and halfway down the hall before six armed men enter the hallway. Y/n gasps and begins to pull Bucky in the opposite direction, but it's no use. It's a dead end. They're trapped. With no other options in sight, Bucky pushes Y/n behind him and prepares for a fight.

A well-dressed man Bucky's all too familiar with steps forward, and Y/n tenses against his back.

The man gives a humorless chuckle, looking past Bucky at the woman behind him. "I should've known."

Boldly, Y/n stares him down. "Probably."

One of the armed men raises his eyebrow. "You know her, boss?"

The man-Nathan Weber-grits his teeth. "It seems my whore wife has been rather busy these past few months sticking her nose _amongst other things_ where she doesn't belong." Nathan's grimace turns into a snarl. "But I'll deal with _you_ later. For now," he takes a confident step forward, eyes trained on Bucky. "Soldat. What is your status?"

Bucky scrunches up his face as annoyance and the urgency of the situation spur him on. "The hell? Let us go and I'll let you live."

Nathan licks his teeth, appraising the situation. After a beat, "Wipe him."

Those words bring pure terror to Bucky and he backs up, almost knocking Y/n to the ground in his desperation to get away.

"Y/n, run," he commands, but they both know there's nowhere for her to go. They are trapped and at the mercy of Hydra. And Lord knows Hydra shows no mercy.

Nathan gives a silent order and the six armed men surge forward, ripping Bucky away from Y/n and shoving him against a cell door. The lock digs into his back but he knows it is nothing compared to the pain that's coming. As he fights against the men, Bucky can see Nathan gripping Y/n by her hair, yelling obscenities.

"Weber stop! Stop." Bucky knows his pleas are desperate and will go unanswered, but he has to at least _try_. "Y/n is your wife and you swore a vow to protect her. Don't you dare break that now."

The guards have Bucky pinned. There's no moving now unless they direct it. With a hand still in Y/n's hair, Nathan stalks to stand in front of Bucky.

He gets close to his face, sneering. "Why stop at a vow?" He scoffs, never losing eye contact. "I swear to you that I will break you both."

The men gasp and groan as Bucky fights against them once more, desperate to get himself and Y/n out of this situation. Or at least distract them long enough for Y/n to get away. But it's no use. Bucky is still weak from hunger and the experiments, Y/n has no fighting experience, neither have weapons, and it's seven against two. Still, Bucky doesn't stop struggling.

He doesn't stop struggling when they're dragged from the room. He doesn't stop when they're pulled down a flight of stairs. He doesn't stop when they strap him to the machine. Even as the restraints bite into his flesh, he tries to get away.

He locks eyes with Y/n, whose own are red with crying. He gulps as he anticipates the torturous pains that come with the wiping process.

Nathan gestures and two of the men force Y/n to her knees and grab her head, keeping it trained on the sight of Bucky in front of her. She grits her teeth.

"This wasn't necessary, you know," Nathan drawls as he walks a lazy path across the room. "The Soldat was doing quite well. But _you_ " he grips Y/n's throat in a tight grasp, and Bucky hears a strange sound coming from his own throat in protest. "Ruined that. Because _you_ fucked up so badly, the Soldat has to suffer."

"No no Nathan I'm sorry! Nathan _please!_ " Y/n's pleas turn into shrieks as Nathan gets closer to the machine.

Bucky does his best to stay calm, but he hears the obvious tremor in his voice when he speaks. "Y/n, it's okay, it will be over soon. It's not your fault, don't listen to them." But he's shaking in fear and his words obviously do nothing but upset Y/n more.

Without warning, Nathan flicks the machine on. As Bucky fades deeper and deeper into the subconscious, the Soldat is painfully aware of the screams ripping from his own throat and from the woman's just a few feet away.

{***}

A sigh of relief. The absence of pain. A strange set of sounds. These are the things the Soldat notices as he reenters the world. Eyes opening slowly, he assesses the room. Six armed personnel guard the exits and Weber, one of his handlers, stands proudly in front of him. Though he doesn't remember much, Mr. Weber is a man he knows of well. Behind Weber, a woman lies in a heap on the floor, sniffling and choking on her tears. The woman catches his attention again when, breathing heavily, she tiredly lifts her head, staring straight at him.

"Bucky?" Her voice comes out croaked and weak. He has no orders to engage and doesn't recognize the name, so he ignores her.

Weber gives the woman a smug look. "Soldat. What is your status?"

The response is automatic and truthful. "Ready to comply."

The woman lets out a pained noise, but no one pays her any mind.

Weber smiles. "Good. Kill the woman."

The woman lets out a strangled gasp, scrambling to get away.

The Soldat stands and takes the gun offered by Weber. He takes aim. The woman closes her eyes, trembling.

"Hold that order, Soldat." With Weber's command, the Soldat lowers his arm.

Weber grins and turns to the guards. "He is fixed." His gaze turns menacing, and he focuses on one of the guards. "Do not let something like this happen again."

"Y-yes sir," the man responds.

"Sir," another guard inquires. "What should we do with your wife?"

Weber sneers. "Throw her in a cell. Based on their previous interaction, we can use her to control the Soldat if he ever gets out of line."

The Soldat is confused. _Use Weber's wife to control him? He's never seen this woman before in his life._ But when the order comes, he pushes down his confusion and obeys, dragging the woman to a cell and locking her in. She cries, begging for someone called Bucky to listen to her, to remember her. The Soldat scans the area behind him, looking for the man the woman calls for. But there is no threat. The woman is alone. And she remains that way long after he leaves.


	9. 1946

Chapter 9

 _1946_

 _Clop. Clop. Clop._

The sounds from the booted guard pierce the closed door. You've been counting the days since Bucky…the Soldat… threw you in here. _Eight_. You had yet to see Nathan, and the coward in you was grateful for that. Even though you've now stared into Nathan's eyes and seen Evil Incarnate, you still carry vestiges of guilt. You had taken vows, after all.

A guard comes twice a day to offer you small amounts of food and water. It's barely enough to keep your body running, but honestly, it's more than you expected from Hydra. Having developed a weird sense of humor, this causes you to chuckle. _It's just like war rationing._ Thoughts of the war remind you of Steve and Bucky, and all traces of humor leave you. The urge to cry is strong, but you resist. You've done enough crying for a lifetime. So instead, you reach into your stockings and pull out the carefully concealed piece of paper.

Every day since arriving in the compound, you'd hidden the letter on your person. During the move, you'd been so worried Nathan would find it and destroy it that you'd nearly lost your mind. After that, you decided it was smarter just to keep it on you. The words in Bucky's letter haven't changed, but it's nice to see his handwriting. Comforting. You're immeasurably glad you have them. But still, now that you're aware that some... _version_ of Bucky exists, alive, somewhere in your vicinity of all places, the letter loses some effect. Having him here, with you, would be so much better, regardless of how unsettling The Soldat is. You know The Soldat isn't Bucky. That much is clear. But, foolishly, maybe, you still feel comforted just by seeing Bucky's physical appearance. The dead eyes though, and the voice...those shake you to your core.

The boots come closer, and you hasten to conceal the letter.

Two soldiers appear in front of the bars, not looking at you directly. One unlocks the door and the other storms in without warning and grabs you by the arm.

Fear shoots through you. "Where are you taking me?" The man doesn't answer, instead choosing to mutter to his companion in Russian. Having lived here for two years, you've picked up phrases here and there, most relating to military jargon. Hearing nothing alarming from the few words you understand, you decide to go along with the men willingly. _Maybe_ , you think hopefully _, Nathan's come to his senses and is going to release me. Or at the very least, move me to a better holding facility._

But the minute you allow yourself to be pulled into the room, all shreds of hope flee.

It's a hospital room, of sorts, only the bed is adorned with straps, and the only medical equipment in the room is an ominous-looking machine filled with vials and tubes of bright green liquid.

You skid to a stop, momentarily confusing your escorts. Desperate now to know what's going on, you ask again, this time in Russian. To your surprise, you get a response, albeit one that makes your blood run cold.

" _Battlefield medic_."

At this, you put a hazy two and two together to conclude that, somehow, that bright green liquid is meant for you.

Your brain goes blank but your body remembers how to struggle. You flail, kicking and screaming in a desperate attempt to escape.

You struggle as the guards drag you through the room, as they strap you to the table, and as one of them puts a needle in your arm. Blood drops onto your shoulder, and you look up, seeing that the guard has a bloody nose. Hopefully, your doing.

You whimper in anticipation as the sludgy liquid creeps from the vials, through the tubes, and gets closer and closer to your skin.

And when it enters your bloodstream, all you can do is scream.

{***}

You're on fire. It's not on your skin so that you could douse yourself in water, or drop the ground and roll, and make it go away. No, the fire is _in_ you, coursing through your veins. The fire is your blood.

{***}

You don't know how much time passes. You wail, sob, beg, scream for _anyone_ to hear you, _anyone_ to come to your aid and make the pain stop. No one does.

{***}

The fire is slowly replaced by other unpleasantries, though you will gladly take being uncomfortable and weak over the excruciating pain. For days you can do nothing but vomit and huddle in the corner of your cell. Everything smells awful and you're sure you're filthy, but there's no energy in you to care. The guards continue to deliver your allotments of food and water, but they cruelly drop them at the front of your cell, knowing you can't crawl to retrieve the items in your weakened state. The sustenance taunts you.

{***}

A rat crawls by, eyeing you warily. But you can cause it no harm. You're too occupied clutching the cold ground as your body convulses, wracked by stomach cramps and uncontrollable shivers. The rat seems to grasp your incapacitated state and scurries forward, snatching a chunk of bread and darting away.

You cough in protest, idly wondering if, when you die, the rats will care.

{***}

When the vomiting stops, you're allowed a shower. Well, you're allowed a bucket filled with freezing cold water. It does the trick though, and as your body tentatively regains strength, you're able to use the excess water to force the filth out of your cell and into the hallway. As soon as it's close enough to inconvenience the guards making rounds, it's cleaned up immediately.

 _Figures_.

Now that torturous pain, debilitating convulsions, and imminent death aren't at the forefront of your mind, you have time to consider Bucky. Your mind stumbles over his name. Because he's not _truly_ Bucky. You'd heard the stories of what war does to men. Heck, you'd seen traces of that in your father, whose usually easy smile seemed to be much more difficult to bring forward after his injury. But this whole thing with Bucky is way different. It's more. It's like there are two different people inhabiting the same body. One is Bucky. Not the Bucky you knew from home, this one is much too sad and frightened, but Bucky still. The other...well, he's who you've mentally dubbed, 'The Soldat'.

The Soldat is everything Bucky is not. Where Bucky is warm and comforting, The Soldat is cold and frightening. Where Bucky is safe, The Soldat is dangerous. Where Bucky is like home, The Soldat is anything but.

Strangely, you know either of them is equally likely to bring about your death. You aren't leaving here without Bucky. Of that, you are unwaveringly certain. But the Hydra facility is well guarded, and you and Bucky are currently about six floors underground. On the off chance you make it through the steel doors and guarded hallways, there's still the surface to navigate. Miles of Russian tundra lies between you and safety. The surrounding towns are full of spies, unlikely to offer you any respite. It's practically a suicide mission, but you know deep in your bones that if you had the chance to grab Bucky and escape, you would take it. Until then, you would have to bide your time and try to avoid being killed by The Soldat. The Soldat is a much more present, tangible threat. You'd seen the way he takes orders: immediately and without thought or question. If someone told him to kill you, that would be it.

So, really, death is quite likely, now that you think about it. Both paths seem to lead to you resting six feet under. You suppose this realization should concern you, or even frighten you, but instead, you feel a sort of grim determination overtake you. Either you will get Bucky out of this facility, or you will die at the hands of The Soldat trying.

 **The Soldat's POV**

His head is pounding, his body aching. He tries to push through it and focus on the task in front of him, knowing only pain awaits him if he fails.

The trainer swings, catching him in the mouth. The Soldat spits, blood hitting the floor. His retaliation is easily countered, and The Soldat is soon on the ground, groaning as he clutches his screaming body. The pain from the most recent round of experiments is nearly debilitating.

"Stop," A sharp voice commands.

When more voices join the fray, The Soldat allows himself to tune out, instead focusing on trying not to vomit.

He ultimately fails. And while he isn't punished right away, he knows it's coming.

So it surprises him, then, when he's roughly thrown into a cell shared by the woman from before.

She stares at him in shock and apprehension. She's right to fear him. He would be lying to himself a little, though, if he didn't acknowledge that he fears her, too.

"A gift, little dove." The speaker's voice is sneering and cruel.

The woman grits her teeth and glares at the man who threw The Soldat in the cell. He recognizes him vaguely as a man called Dmitri.

When Dmitri is gone, the woman's gaze falls on The Soldat, looking at him with caution in her eyes. Her gaze is unsettling. _Why_ does her face bring him so much inner turmoil? It's unnerving, and The Soldat cannot confront that when he is currently dealing with the pain coursing through his body. So instead, he pulls himself into a back corner of the cell and tries to sleep.

The woman leaves him alone, but she does not look away. _Good_ , The Soldat thinks, a rebellious act in itself. _You are right to fear me._

 **A/n Hello! I'm so happy to be back with you all! How's life? I know this chapter was much shorter than usual but I promise I've got a good reason. I'll work on getting another one out soon :) One quick thing: I love putting together little playlists that remind me of stories I'm reading. If you have any songs that remind you of this story, please send them my way! I would love to give them a listen. Also, don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter! I love hearing from you guys.**


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